Storytelling - Greek mythology and Oscar shorts

Stories.  I love 'em.  They get you out of your head, into someone else's.  They take you places.  They make you feel things and understand things that you might never otherwise feel or understand because the scope of your first-hand experience is too narrow. 

As a teenager who read way too many books (for example, in my ninth-grade English class we were supposed to read 1,000 pages each semester; I read 10,000), I probably would have said that I was reading for the story.  In the intervening years, I've come to appreciate the telling of the story as much as the story itself -- possibly more, since good storytelling can transform an otherwise mediocre tale and poor storytelling can cripple a good one.

These past two weekends have been full of stories and storytelling. 

I.

Last Sunday I finally got to see Mary Zimmerman's Metamorphoses at Arena Stage.  I say "finally" because I've been wanting to see it ever since 2002, when I was in New York for the very first time and decided to see a more traditional musical like Chicago instead of some weird non-musical that got people wet -- naturally that "weird" play won a Tony for best play, the playwright/director got a MacArthur Genius Award, and I've loved everything of hers that I've seen since (Lookingglass Alice, Candide, Arabian Nights -- all of which I apparently saw prior to writing this blog, because I can't find any posts about them).  

Metamorphoses is based on Ovid's poem of the same title, and stories and storytelling are at it's core.  The central conceit is a group of people sitting around telling each other stories that people have been telling each other for centuries; namely, Greek myths.  The actors tell us the stories of Midas, Eros and Psyche, Orpheus and Eurydice, and a bunch of others -- through all of which runs a central theme of, transformation.  


Eros and Psyche

What struck me about the storytelling is just how spare it could be while delivering a powerful message.  Greek mythology is so deeply ingrained in Western culture (especially as inculcated through my liberal-arts-heavy education) that in many instances Zimmerman could dispense of everything but a person and a single simbolic action (for example, a woman walks on stage and opens a box, smoke escapes, and she walks off) and we still get the point and know the whole story (Pandora!).  Because the basic stories already live in our heads, Zimmerman could evoke them with little effort and then let the combination of the audience's imagination and her script bring them to life with current, modern resonance.

One of my favorite sequences was Orpheus and Eurydice.  The actors performed the story twice (Eurydice dies on her wedding day; Orpheus goes into the underworld to rescue her; but right as they emerge from the underworld he looks at her -- which he was forbidden from doing -- and loses her forever), and each time the narrator offered a different interpretation -- one from Ovid; one from Rilke -- and in so doing invited us to question both of those interpretations, as well as the interpretations we place on any of these stories.

II.

Tonight I saw a different set of stories, all in short-form, unrelated to each other, and told in sequence, but this time film was the medium, and their common quality the fact that they've all been nominated for Academy Awards. 

The live action shorts included a film from Belgium/France (La mort d'une ombre), Canada (Henry), the United States (Curfew), Afghanistan/USA (Buzkashi Boys), and South Africa (Asad).  None of these stories was light:  In one, a ghost takes pictures of deaths as they happen in hopes of returning to life; in another, an aging man struggles with dementia; another presents a man on the verge of suicide and his beaten sister; the remaining two offer bleak depictions of childhood in war-ravaged countries.

The first two were my favorites, both because I liked them in their own right, and because I loved the pairing. 

Death of a Shadow

La mort was a fantastical and somewhat gothic story of a WWI soldier who takes pictures of deaths (which appear as shadows) in an effort to buy a second chance at life. He succeeds only to realize that the reason for his return -- a lovely young woman who nursed him -- has been shattered by the death of her own soldier love.  Our hero sacrifices his new-found life to restore that other soldier to the woman he loves.  Not necessarily a profoundly original tale, but the shadow-camera is a cool idea, and the visual presentation of the film is gorgeous. 

Henry

What La mort really did was prime the pump for Henry.  This is a story of an aging musician who is losing his memory.  The film takes us through moments of lucidity and dementia, and it rips your heart out to witness Henry's loss of the beautiful, happy memories of his life with his wife (a violinist who is dead), his daughter (whom he doesn't recognize), and even himself ("Was I a good man?" he asks the stranger who is is daughter).  The tender Schubert piano music of the soundtrack contributes significantly to the poignant tale.  By the end I was a complete wreck.

The others were fine; each with strong points.  The more I think about them, though, the less I like the Afghani/US film.  It was visually stunning (those mountains!) and told the story well -- but here I think the story and the storytelling were out of synch.  The film was written by an American, funded (at least in part) by the U.S. State Department, and it felt like an unhappy projection of the "American Dream" onto the reality of war-torn Afghanistan.  I'm having a hard time figuring out how I feel about the film because I feel like I can't tell whose story it is or who is telling it -- and that uncertainty makes me distrust the film; I remember it cynically, and so it falls in my esteem.

 

Ladyfood, caveman style

So.  You're a caveman.  You're all fit from crossfitting and eating mastodons and birdseed and stuff, and you get invited to a potluck with your team so that you can score some points and beat the competition.  What do you bring?

The answer isn't obvious.  Especially when the hostess is making some famous chili recipe and everyone else is bringing steak and stuffed peppers and paleo brownies and homemade coconut-milk icecream with fresh blueberries. 

Your first instinct will be to attempt that pad thai recipe again, but then Whole Foods will still not have any coconut aminos, and you'll decide that it's better to let that one go than risk another meltdown in the Asian food aisle.  Instead, you'll do something simple and delicious and not very cavemanlike:  Ladyfood.

Specifically, quiche.  Quiche!  Mmmm.

Thanks to the PaleOMG blog, you find a recipe that looks delicious and doesn't require any fancy-pants ingredients.  It does have a weird take on the crust -- replacing the typical flaky pastry crust (which isn't allowed in the paleo regime) with a "crust" made of ground meat -- but hey, isn't this all about trying new things?  Within minutes you're pressing your mild Italian sausage into pie-crust form and sauteeing your sweetpotatoes and garlic.  And then it's only a matter of time before you're pulling it out of the oven and letting it cool, all warm and delicious-smelling, on your kitchen counter.  Cinderella's ready for the ball! 

And boy, talk about the belle of the ball!  Any doubts I had about making a quiche, especially one with a crust made of meat, flew out the window as soon as folks started serving themselves.  Before touching any other dish on the table, everyone made a beeline for the quiche.  It was like they were racing to make sure they got some before it was gone.  And gone it soon was.  The little that remained after the first round was snarfed up when people went back for seconds.  More than one person said it was their favorite dish of the night; I was the only person who went home with an empty pan.  That's my idea of a successful potluck dish.

I can't take credit for coming up with the recipe, but I will take credit for finding it and executing well!



 

 

Short and sweet

I'm kind of famous amongst my extended family for going to crazy-long performances.  And it's true that I'm no stranger to six-hour operas and four-hour plays.  But not everything I see is that long, and I certainly don't think that everything should be that long.  Indeed, there's something sweet and clean and refreshing about being short and to the point. 

Take Eugene O'Neill's Hughie, for example.  With a running time of only 55 minutes, I was in and out of the theatre and back home earlier than I often get home on an ordinary worknight!  Awesome.

The great thing is that those 55 minutes were all that O'Neill needed to tell his tale.  The play is a model of tight, rigorous composition.  It reminded me of the best of the classical Greek or French tragedies, where there's only enough to accomplish the purpose of the play -- no more, no less. 

Essentially, the play presents the first meeting of two men in a hotel lobby:  One, a guest, is a seedy gambler returning late; the other is the the night clerk at the front desk.  I say meeting, but I should probably qualify it with quotes -- "meeting" -- because they never really meet each other.  Not in a deep, meaningful way.  Their bodies are in the same room, and they talk to each other; they even sometimes listen to each other.  But their minds never meet.  Each man lives in the world of his own mind, and the play achingly depicts how those two worlds never meet, even when in any other context you'd say they did meet. 

It's almost depressing.  Indeed, for most of the play it is depressing.  The men's failed communication emphasizes the essential loneliness of being an individual person -- how you can never really get outside yourself to really experience another person.  We think we make connections and have meaningful relationships, but what if it's just an illusion we've created in our own minds?  A story that we tell ourselves that bears no relation to the story that the other person is telling himself? 

If the play had ended at 50 minutes, it would have left us in a bleak state indeed.  But, instead, during those last five minutes the O'Neill shifts the fit:  he never lets the two men connect in any real way, but he mitigates their terrible loneliness by allowing them to discover how the story in one man's mind fits with the story in the other man's mind, so that each gets from the other exactly what he needs (even though the other never realizes exactly that that's what he's giving).  It's just a little shift, but it's all that is needed for each man to feel like he isn't alone after all.  A bleak world, to be sure, but not without hope.
 

Patron of the arts

The Alvin Ailey concerts are always one of the highlights of the modern dance season at the Kennedy Center.  They come every year, and every year I go and I love them.  (Here's what I wrote about their performance last year.)  I saw them perform at the Kennedy Center on Thursday and, as always, the athleticism and beauty of the Ailey dancers left me in awe of the human form in motion. 

What was different this time around was my new status as a "Member" of the Kennedy Center.  Their telemarketers had been pestering me for years to become a member -- which essentially is the entry-level donor program -- and this year I finally gave in and sent them a check.  In return, I received a flimsy ID card, some vouchers for reduced parking fares, the promise of having access to members-only lounges during intermissions, and the internal satisfaction of having begun (in albeit a very small way) to achieve one of my life's goals.  When I left my fundraising job at the Kennedy Center (a job that I loved), I told myself that I'd rather be a patron of the arts than a person who solicited donations from patrons.  And now look at me:  a bona fide donor! 

Now, don't get me wrong:  This is NOT fancy.  I am by no means a high-roller or important at all.  And I thought I knew that, but I was still excited to go to the members' lounge during intermission.  It seemed like a sophisticated thing to do, and I figured it would be fun to take my friend Amy along with me. 

So during the first intermission we walked up to the Opera-house lounge.  As we went, Amy asked, somewhat uncertainly, if my membership was enough to cover her, too, or if she'd have to wait outside for me.  Bah, I said, of course they'll let you in!

Little did I know that they shouldn't have let either of us in!  We came to the door of what I thought was the members' lounge and greeted the hostess.  She knew me from when I worked at the Kennedy Center, and she was happy to see me.  I cheerily told her that I'd finally become a member and was looking forward to using the lounge.  She took one look at my card and laughed -- You've got the wrong lounge!  Your lounge is on the other side, up a few levels and on the right-hand side -- there are no drinks or refreshments there!  But don't worry, I like you, so you and your friend can come in anyway. 

And in we went!  We got some refreshments and enjoyed the lounge that should have been out of our league.  I was a little mortified at my mistake and made a note to myself to keep my delusions of grandeur in check.  On the other hand, I was gratified to realize that, regardless of whatever money I may give (or not give!) to the Kennedy Center, I was already a "member" in the way that really counts -- I was friends with the folks who run the place!

We finished our drinks and went back down for the next act of the performance.  During the second intermission we decided not to press our luck too far among the fancy donors.  We stayed among the plebes and agreed that we'd leave our hunt for the correct members' lounge for next time.

 

What I ate

I spent more time cooking this weekend than I have in years!  Two reasons for that:  First, having arrived at the end of the second week of this paleo/primal challenge, I was oh so bored of eating the same rotation of grilled meats and fresh vegetables/fruits -- I needed a more complicated and satisfying hot meal.  Second, we got bonus points for trying out new-to-us recipes and sharing them with the group.

A couple of friends of mine who have been eating paleo for a while recommended some blogs with paleo recipes and directed me to a few of their favorites.  Sadly, I wasn't able to find all the ingredients for some of the recipes I was most excited about (and when I say "sadly", I really mean it -- nothing makes you want to cry in the middle of the grocery store quite like not finding that one last ingredient for the dish you've been fantasizing about all week), but I still managed to pull off three solid dishes. 

I would describe the first two as definite successes; the third as a valiant effort.  I'm looking forward to making these recipes again (with certain refinements that I've noted based on this first attempt) and to discovering more!

Butternut Squash Lasagna

This recipe comes from Health-Bent, a blog run by two crossfit coaches in South Carolina.  The trick here is to replace the pasta with slices of squash -- and it works surprisingly well.  While it lacked the cheesy goodness of ordinary lasagna, it was still delicious.  The key, I think, is to use good sausage and not to skimp on the red peppers; also, keep your squash slices thin.  The recipe is a definite keeper, and I'm curious to play around with variations (maybe add some spinach?).

Sweet Potato Hash

This recipe is the result of a Google search from the middle of the produce section at my grocery store.  In response to my concerns about losing weight (I'm trying not to) my coach suggested that I eat sweet potatoes after my workouts in the morning.  I made a batch this afternoon with the idea of having it on hand through the week.  Of course, it also made a fantastic pre-meal for the Super Bowl party I went to tonight -- by filling my tummy ahead of time, I wasn't tempted to eat the non-paleo treats that were spread ever so enticingly on the counter.

Adam's Apples

This recipe comes from one of my teammates (who may have gotten it from somewhere else, but she didn't say), and it's my first attempt at a paleo dessert.  It consists of apples (green and red) and a pear tossed with cinnamon, vanilla, dried cranberries, almonds, pecans, salt and coconut oil, and baked together in the oven.  The result didn't wow me, but I see potential:  Essentially, I would cut the salt and increase the dried cranberries, and I would cut the apples/pear smaller and cook them for longer so they were soft like in an apple pie.  I've got some apples left over, so I may give that a try later this week.

Restaurants

Not everything I ate this weekend was the fruit of my own labor.  On Friday I met up with cousin James again (which feels like an appropriately Downton Abbey-esque thing to call him), this time for dinner at Huong Viet, my favorite Vietnamese restaurant in Arlington.  With all the fantastic noodles and rice and dumplings on the menu, I was tempted to abandon my paleo challenge for the night, but then I discovered a few items that seemed paleo-friendly -- and I'm not gonna lie, I did not ask too many questions to make sure!  (Of course, there was no way I was going to try to figure out how to log all that in my food log, so while I got full points for sticking with the diet, I lost one for not keeping track... tant pis!)

Lotus root salad with shrimp and pork

Caramelized chicken with ginger and chilies

Eat like a caveman (or, Careful what you sign up for!)

Okay, so you know how I've been going to the local Crossfit gym for a few months now, right?  Well, in early January they announced a "Primal Nutrition Challenge" and encouraged us all to sign up.  I paid only enough attention to learn that there would be a nutrition seminar followed by a structured program to help us implement the principles covered in the seminar.  Sounded good to me -- I'm always up for learning how to eat more healthily, especially if it helps make my workouts more effective.  So I enrolled.

What I didn't know is that, by so doing, I was essentially committing myself to eating like a paleolithic hunter-gatherer for the next six weeks.  Turns out "Primal" is more than just an abstract, fit-sounding word that an over-the-top gym throws around:  It's actually a fairly stringent version of the faddish "paleo" diet that has recently taken the fitness world by storm.  The basic theory appears to be that humans evolved eating meats, fruits, certain veggies, nuts and berries -- and nothing else, especially not refined sugars, grains, legumes, dairy or French pastries.  Accordingly, in order to be optimally fit, we should stick to that evolutionary diet and eliminate all those delicious bad things that make us happy fat and ill.

At first I thought it wouldn't be that big of a deal:  After all, I could try it out and, if it didn't work for me, I'd just go back to my normal diet.  But then the other shoe dropped:  I was on a team.  We were keeping score.  IT WAS A COMPETITION. 

Which meant I had to win.

Dang it.

So I went to the seminar and got indoctrinated learned the groundrules of the paleo diet.  In certain respects, I was already very close:  I already ate fresh meats and vegetables, with very little sugar.  But I also ate a fair amount of dairy and starchy carbohydrates like breads and potatoes, and all of that needed to go.  After the seminar I went out for one last burrito with beans and rice, and then went to the grocery store to stock up on things like almond milk, almond butter, coconut milk, eggs, avocadoes, nuts, bananas, bacon, chicken, tomatoes and other things that fit within the rules. 

That was all ten days ago.  Since then I've strictly adhered to the diet.  I've discovered that I love almond milk and almond butter.  I also love the robust breakfasts of eggs, bacon and avocado that I've started to eat in lieu of cereal or toast.  And in terms of how I feel, I like how this low-carb/no-sugar diet has nearly eliminated the blood sugar highs and lows of a more ordinary diet:  Gone are those starving hunger pangs and those postprandial "food comas" -- the day proceeds in a much more even way (which is an effect that I'd approximated for years simply by not eating; this strikes me as a better way to get there).

I've also discovered that the paleo diet is not for the poor or the time-strapped.  So far my grocery bill has tripled (these specialty, non-processed foods are expensive!), as has the time I spend in the grocery store.  When you have to read every single label to make sure it doesn't have sugar or grain or legumes or dairy, or when you have to go to three different stores just to find "coconut aminos" to replace your soy sauce, there's no longer such a thing as a quick run to the grocery store.  And I'm starting to tire of what feels, at least lately, like a meat- and fat-heavy diet.

Still, I've lost three pounds (which wasn't the goal, but there you have it).  I feel great (it helps that eating "paleo" isn't the only thing we're doing:  we get points for workouts, for getting at least 7 hours of sleep each night, for setting goals and achieving them, for experimenting with new recipes).  And, of course, my team is winning. 

Speaking of my team, that has been the best part of this whole project so far.  It's a good group of people (both men and women) who are enthusiastic and supportive.  We have a private Facebook group where we share recipes, ask questions, and encourage each other.  For example, this happened the other day:

In a world where I often feel conspicuously out of place and eons behind everyone else in the gym, this is the first time I have ever felt this sort of community and support from fellow gym-goers.  That, alone, is enough to make this paleo challenge worth it.

The contest runs through the first week of March, and I'm planning to stick it out.  I'm not quite as convinced by the diet as some of my teammates are, but I figure six weeks of it can't hurt me, and maybe I'll become a true-believer -- or at least pick up some good ideas along the way. 

In any event, I'll keep you posted. 

Back to the wild

After two days with temperatures in the mid-sixties, the ice block on my balcony finally melted.  Time for the goldfish to move out of my refrigerator! 

First step was to place the vase inside the pond to allow the
fridge water to equalize with the pond water temperature.

Once the water temperature had equalized, I tipped them out into
the wild blue yonder. They quickly hid on the bottom.

It's amazing how much more room one has in one's fridge when there aren't goldfish living there.

 

Done deal

Remember that deal that took over my life in December and had me living in a conference room in New York for weeks on end?  Well, I'm happy to say that all the work paid off:  The parties signed last week, and it was publicly announced this morning (click here to read the press release).  Unofficial coverage in the media, which provide some additional color, started trickling in last week (here's a story from Bloomberg).  At the risk of speaking too soon (because who knows what still might happen), I'll say that I'm glad to have been involved in the project -- and even gladder to see it finished!

Addendum

Okay, so you know that saying, "If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all"?  Well, I read that as giving me permission to say whatever I want as long as I say something nice while doing so -- which is why I put all the nice things I had to say about this weekend in my last post. 

Why (WHY!?) is it that every time something was going really well this weekend, there had to be some little plague to take off some of the fun? 

It all started last night at the Brooklyn Rider concert.  As we walked up to the synagogue, I turned to Amy to make sure she had the tickets.  Her response:  What do you mean? I gave you your ticket after I bought it last October!  Me:  Not to worry, let's just have the will-call office give us a reprint.  To which the will-call office said, Oh, yeah, we don't do that.  At which point I tried to be charming -- but actually ended up being kind of Godmothery -- and won.  They let me in without my ticket.  Which should have been great, except that then I was plagued with victor's guilt for the rest of the night.  Gah!

AND THEN . . . today at the ballet.  Amy and I are sitting down in the prime orchestra section; our seats are awesome; the show was awesome; we are awesome -- until a woman who may have been related to the Pillsbury Doughboy sits down next to me, refuses to take off her puffy coat, and proceeds to occupy half my seat.  Seriously folks, what's the point of being skinny enough to fit within the boundaries of my own two armrests if everyone else gets to invade whenever they want?!?  And not only that, but then she starts jabbing me repeatedly with her elbow as she reaches into her coat pocket to get out cough drops (which resulted in her blowing menthol-breath all over me) and then peanut M&Ms (which resulted in her blowing peanut breath all over me).  I kid you not.  I was literally being attacked by a puffy-coated peanut-breathing dragon while Alice danced with the hot caterpillar.  The only way it could have been worse is if she'd been eating Doritos.  It was extremely distressing and I wished more than anything that I'd worn the device that Amanda had given me in penance for after an earlier peanut-breath incident on a bus in Peru.  Sadly, that talisman was at home on my bookshelf.



You're supposed to fill the slotted vial with some
good-smelling thing and then hold it to your nose
when plagued with odors.

FINALLY . . . tonight.  As the dinner party wound down, I offered to give the intern couple a ride home.  A good deed, right?  Right.  And no good deed goes unpunished.  In this case, I needed to move a bag from the back seat of the car into the trunk.  Only instead of just throwing the bag into the trunk and driving off, I threw the bag AND MY KEYS into the trunk -- and then closed the trunk.  Merde.  Of course there's no way to get into the trunk without a key:  my model of Kia doesn't have a separate trunk release, nor can you access the trunk from the interior as you can in most modern cars.  And, natch, my spare car key was in my office downtown, and my office key was in my apartment, and my apartment key was in the trunk, and in any event I was on foot without out a coat in sub-freezing weather more than a mile from the nearest metro stop, and I still had two twentysomethings who needed to get home. 

First things first, I took the twentysomethings back to the house where we'd had dinner and tore our hosts out of bedtime routine with their children so they could give the twentysomethings a ride home instead of me.  Then I summoned a private driver through Uber (thank heavens I hadn't locked my phone in the car, too!) and set off on what I was sure would be a multi-stop wild goose chase.

Fortunately things started getting better from there.  The guy at the front desk in my building handed me a spare key to my apartment without any hassle, and then I discovered (glory be!) that I actually had a second set of spare car keys stashed in my filing cabinet, so I didn't need to go all the way into town after all.  I was able to get back to the car and home without any further adventures.  (And I'm grateful for that, I really am, but sheesh!)

*    *    *

Now I'm sitting here at home, comfortably blogging about the weekend, wondering why all these stupid little annoying things had to happen this weekend.  I mean, it's not like people are dying or there's been an earthquake or anything truly disastrous (knock on wood), but still, it's as if I've been caught by the evil eye or something.  Fortunately I've got evil-eye protection all over my bedspread -- so at least I should make it until morning without further afflictions!





All the happy things

I hope everyone had as good a weekend as I did.  Here are the highlights:

I.

There's nothing like blowing off work on a Saturday afternoon to eat some tasty barbecue with good friends.  My original plan had been to spend the bulk of the day working, trying to get a head start on the week to come.  But then I learned that Jennifer and Jean (two friends from Kennedy Center days), and Sarah (another friend who we met through Jennifer) were going to be lunching in Chinatown, and I just couldn't resist.  We met at Hill Country and spent a couple of hours enjoying the barbecue chicken, brisket and marinated cucumbers while catching up on everyone's lives.  Sadly, the food was gone before I thought to take pictures -- but it wasn't any less delicious!

II.

While I digested my barbecue, I managed to squeeze in another hour of work before heading back to Chinatown for dinner.  This time with Amy (a law school friend), her sister Julie, and Kristy, a friend I meth through Amy and Julie.  We met at Absolute Thai, where I successfully resisted the temptation of all those noodles and ordered a paleo-friendly meal of soup, salmon and vegetables (more on why that matters later). 

Tom Kha Gai
(chicken and mushrooms in spicy coconut milk soup)

Grilled salmon, spicy mango salad, chili-lime sauce

III.

From dinner we walked over to the Historic Synagogue on 6th & I Street to see Brooklyn Rider in concert.  For those who don't pay attention to public radio (I'm such a nerd!), Brooklyn Rider is a Brooklyn-based string quartet that plays everything from classical quartets (they did a fantastic Mendelssohn piece last night) to contemporary works to pieces they commissioned from friends or composed themselves.  They've got a great, vibrant sound; they're very cool -- definitely not your grandfather's string quartet.  (If you're interested, you should check out their YouTube channel and some of the pieces that NPR has done about them.)

I only felt comfortable taking pictures during the talking breaks

The synagogue itself was worth seeing, too.  It was built in the early 1900s and has been well-restored after being rescued from demolition and/or worse (e.g., being turned into a nightclub).  It's still an operating synagogue as well as a popular performance space.

This little friend turned up during intermission

IV.

 

I am a sucker for ballet. And I'm a sucker for Alice in Wonderland. So, not surprisingly, I loved seeing the National Ballet of Canada's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland at the Kennedy Center this afternoon.  I haven't read much of what other people are saying about the production (though there's a good review here and more photos here), but it was exactly what I was hoping for -- and more.  It was playful and magical and scary (the terrifying sausage-making scene in the Duchess's cottage could have been straight out of Sweeney Todd) and oh, so much fun.  Much of it was accessible to even the least experienced audience member -- which led to an enthusiastic and appreciative crowd, always a plus -- but there were also inside jokes, with musical and choreographic references to other ballets and orchestral works (some of which I got; I'm sure I missed a bunch).  There were multi-media integrations, Basil Twist-like puppets, fabulous sets and clever special effects that captured all the shrinking and growing that Alice does throughout her adventures.  And, of course, there was the dancing -- lots of great classical ballet that never seemed to take itself too seriously (there was a healthy contingent of character dancers) and even some tap.  Made me sad when we had to come out of the rabbit hole in the end!

V.

After the ballet I hurried back to Arlington for one of those small-group dinners that the church organizes every few months.  This one was hosted by a couple I hadn't met before -- the guy is my age and a nuclear physicist; his wife takes care of their three rambunctious kids.  Of the other guests, I already knew two (he's a lawyer, she a former teacher), and two were new (recent college grads, both interning out here for the next few months).  Dinner was delicious (spicy chili!) and my contribution (sliced apples with almond butter) was a hit -- the adults loved the almond butter, and the kids polished off the apples like they were candy.  It was fun to get to know some new people; a great way to end the weekend.

 

I've got goldfish in my fridge

It's one thing to leave your ornamental goldfish outside overnight when there's a light freeze:  The fish just keep swimming happily under the ice.

I think they're pretending to be killer whales, waiting for a
baby seal to fall through the ice so they can eat it.

It's another thing altogether to leave them outside when the forecast looks like this:



Especially when your fish live in an unheated barrel on an 8th-floor balcony.  I mean, seriously.  A week of sub-freezing temperatures risks turning that thing into a solid ice cube -- and although it may be true that, from a financial perspective, I should be more worried about saving my water lily than the goldfish (the former cost $40; the latter, $0.25 each), I still can't help feeling a little horrified at the thought of finding once-living fish-bodies in said ice cube. 

So into the fridge they go.  That way I don't have to worry about losing counterspace or seeing their little strings of poo, and they don't have to worry about drastic temperature fluctuations between indoors and outdoors.  It's a win-win for everyone.

Think of it as fish tourism:
"Here on the left we have a gallon of milk."

And if I hear any complaining about cramped quarters or how distressing it is to have the light flash on every time I open the door, I'll just show them this photo of their currently very frozen home.



I'm considering inviting some polar bears to live on the ice
during the winter months, since apparently it's all melting up north.

Inauguration Day

Today President Obama was inaugurated to his second term as president of the United States.  Technically he was already sworn in, having officially taken his oath of office yesterday (January 20th being the prescribed Inauguration Day), but since yesterday was a Sunday, all of the public pomp and ceremony happened today. 

Four years ago I spent Inauguration Day at home, watching events unfold online, while gazillions of people froze outside in the below-freezing temperatures.  This year I still had no desire to stand around for hours in the cold (even if it was only in the mid-40s), but I didn't have to worry about that -- instead, this time I was invited to the fancy inaugural reception that my firm (which is located on Pennsylvania Avenue, just a couple of blocks down from the White House) holds for clients and the attorneys who work with them.  We've got a fantastic rooftop terrace with views over the city and, more importantly, the Inaugural Parade route. 

I got to the office early.  I didn't know what the crowd situation on the Metro or in the streets around my office would be like, and in any event I had plenty of billable work to keep me occupied until the party started.  As it turned out, the Metro wasn't any more crowded than during an ordinary rush hour, and the masses downtown hadn't quite materialized when I passed through.

My building is the one on the right.  All of the streets were blocked off, and the tents were the security
checkpoint to access Pennsylvania Avenue and the National Mall.

I went up to my office and worked.  It's nice how productive you can be when you sacrifice a federal holiday to come into the office and work.  As I worked, I listened to CNN's coverage from the Capitol Building and kept an eye on the crowds outside.  As you can see, the crowds were focused on the Mall, leaving Pennsylvania Avenue nearly deserted until after the swearing in.

There was a brief buzz of activity late morning when the presidential motorcade zipped up Pennsylvania from the White House to the Capitol Building.  The motorcade is always surprisingly long, and it always travels surprisingly fast -- which is why I only got a photo of the tail end of the polic escort and not the President's car itself. 

Some people like watching the motorcades because it gives them a sense of witnessing power and Important People.  I actually don't like motorcades at all because, to me, they're the sort of demonstration of power and Important People that puts me in a mood for the French Revolution.  As I watch those shiny black limousines cruise with their massive security detail, forcing everyone else around them to stop and wait, I can't help but think of the absolute power of the monarch and the privilege of the aristocracy, and I understand a little bit why le peuple got so upset.

Fortunately, however, this is the USA, 2013, and not France, 1789, so we did not have a rebellion or cut off anyone's head.  Instead, we were treated to two interminable prayers, some songs from pop-stars, a weird (and boring) poem, a couple of swearings in, and one very good speech from the President.  Then it was over; time for lunch. 

I'd love to say that I ate the delicious lunch that was served at the client reception.  But I can't.  Turns out, these reception-style meal events are pretty tricky when you're wearing Invisalign retainers.  Either you eat with them in, risking an atrocious smile as food particles work their way between the retainers and your teeth, or you unceremoniously rip them out in front of everyone and stand there holding your plate in one hand and your teeth in the other, looking for all the world like some crazy old coot from the Ozarks.  I chose a third option of skipping the food and making my rounds with only a drink in my hand.  Then, once I'd seen everyone I wanted to see, I went down to my office and ate a peanut-butter sandwich at my desk (at least I'd had the foresight to bring food!). 

After lunch the party dispersed to find suitable viewing locations for the parade.  The parade goes right down Pennsylvania from the Capitol to the White House, passing right in front of the firm.  Most of the lawyers who have offices on the Pennsylvania side of the building left the crowded rooftop terrace in favor of their own, less crowded offices. 

I did the same.  Tim, a friend of mine (who also happens to be a client), had come to the party with a couple of additional friends.  I invited them into my office to watch the parade. 

The initial phalanx of police motorcycles.

Followed by several tight marching squadrons in military uniform (I could never tell who was who).

The President and First Lady walked outside their car until literally a block away from us. 
Then they stopped and got back in the car and drove past.  We were all super annoyed.

There they go.

The Vice President did the same thing.
There must have been some pre-arranged deal where they walked from A to B, and we were just past B.

After the Important People drove past, the rest of the parade was just marching bands from random states.
I didn't wait long enough to find out whether all fifty states were represented.

That's Tim, with the band from Ohio in the background.

I'm happy to have been downtown for the inauguration, and I'm happy to have seen the parade.  Can't get more Washingtonian than that!  To be honest, though, it was pretty anti-climactic.  If it hadn't been for Tim and friends, I'd even go so far as to say it was boring and a waste of time. 

Part of the problem is that we're dealing with a second inauguration, which inevitably is less exciting than a first inauguration.  Believe me, four years ago this place was electric with insane positive energy -- it literally felt like Christmas for a week.  Not so this year. 

But also there's my whole French Revolution hang-up (which maybe I should just call cynicism lest I give the French Revolution short shrift).  I just don't buy into the pomp and ceremony of politics and the state in action -- and having devoted the entire day to watching the parade only to see a few black cars and some high school marching bands doesn't exactly help.  Next time I think I'll just stick to listening to the speeches and songs from the comfort of my own living room.

 

Planes, paintings and long-lost relatives

Here's a question from the "which Romantic hero(ine) are you" department:  Have you ever moved across the country to where you think you are completely without kindred, only to discover that, in fact, you've got cousins in the neighborhood -- and that you've already met them?  I have.  Turns out that plot point in Jane Eyre wasn't so far fetched after all (though, to be fair, my cousins didn't find me unconscious on the moors or ask me to join them as a missionary in Africa; and I'm still waiting for one of them to tell me that I've inherited a fortune so that I can share it with them while remaining independently wealthy). 

 

Here's the story: 

 

My paternal grandmother is a McKay, and there's a branch of the McKay family that lives in Arizona, mostly in the Mesa area, I think.  Because of geography and life, my generation never really got to know this side of the family -- all we knew is that there were a bunch of "Arizona cousins" that everyone liked, and with whom I associated fuzzy childhood memories of busy holiday dinners and scavenging for Indian pottery shards in the desert. 

 

Fast-forward to last fall.  While I was holed up in my apartment waiting for Hurricane Sandy to blow over, two Arizona cousins -- Joan (my first cousin once removed) and her daughter, Joyce (my second cousin) -- who had apparently seen my cutting edge weather reports, messaged me saying that their son/brother, James, also lives in Arlington and that we should connect.  I looked James up and, lo and behold, discovered that I had actually met him a couple of years earlier in the singles ward I'd attended when I first moved down from New York, and that we currently lived about a mile from each other.  We connected on Facebook and, after juggling conflicting schedules for a couple of months, finally planned to meet up for dinner on the first of February.

 

In a completely separate track, my dad emailed me a couple of days ago and told me that another Arizona cousin, Kirt, was living in Virginia Beach (he's a Navy pilot), and that he'd given Kirt my contact information.

 

Next thing I know, it's Saturday morning, I'm on my way to ballet class, and I get a call from an unknown number that turns out to be Kirt -- he's driving up from Virginia Beach to meet James; they're going to the Smithsonian that afternoon and do I want to join them? 

 

Sure!  Who cares that I'd planned to spend Saturday afternoon running errands and catching up on work projects -- I wasn't about to turn down an opportunity to connect with family.  (How's that for uncharacteristic spontaneity?)  As Kirt finished the three-hour drive, I managed to finish my class and brunch with Amy, run home and change, and then drive over to James's place to meet them. 

 

Moi, James, Kirt
On the National Mall.

 

I.

 

We started out with the Smithsonian's National Air and Space Museum -- and let me just say that it's a completely different experience when you tour that museum with a Navy pilot!  Normally my eyes glaze over after about half an hour in there, but this time I thoroughly enjoyed Kirt's running commentary on all the flying machines we saw -- his expertise and enthusiasm were way better than any museum docent.



First jet engine to break the sound barrier.
Thanks to Kirt and this display, I now understand
how jet engines work.

Cockpit simulator of an Airbus jet.
Kirt explained what was happening as the simulator
went through take-off and landing.

 

Monkey in a 1950s space pod.
Apparently the project was abandoned because
the monkey that trained for the mission was from India,
and India views those monkeys as sacred,
so sending a monkey on a perilous mission into space
became a touchy diplomatic issue.

 

II.

After Air & Space, we ran across the National Mall . . .



pausing briefly for a shot in front of the Capitol Building

. . . and into the National Gallery of Art.  We only had an hour before closing, so we just got the "highlights" map and started running.  Here the roles were reversed -- this was my element and I enjoyed sharing some of what I knew about art history and the individual artists and paintings that we saw (though I also tried to keep it toned down and not be an obnoxious art know-it-all). 



Madame Moitessier (Ingres, 1852)
My single favorite comment of the day came from Kirt when he saw this painting:
"Now there's a woman who has never run a day in her life."

I love how I can be surprised by this museum no matter how many times
I visit.  I used this image of Saint George and the Dragon as my Facebook
profile picture for a long time and had no idea that the original was here.

 

III.

 

After finishing our run through the art museum, we walked slowly back to the car, stopping (as one does) for some pains au chocolat at Paul Bakery.  They were delicious on the chilly afternoon, and I was happy to have gotten to know James and Kirt a little better over the course of the afternoon.  It's funny how "family" can bring together three different people like that, out of the blue, and facilitate a connection that might never otherwise have been there.  Kirt will go back to Virginia Beach after the long weekend, and I'm not sure how often he'll be back up here.  James lives here, though, and I'm looking forward to building the acquaintance into friendship, so that "family" will mean more than just a diagram on the family tree.

 

 

Good friends, good food, and some very beginning ballet

Remember my little rant last week about friends and flakiness and sitting at home watching movies alone?  Well, I'm happy to say that this weekend went much more smoothly.

I.

Yesterday morning dawned chilly and bright.  I got up early and checked my work email -- a slew of documents had come in overnight that needed attention.  Fortunately, the review was quick and didn't require any follow-up from me.  A good thing, too, since I had planned to meet up with Amy for another ballet class and brunch. 

This was my first drop-in ballet class that since completing missing nearly all of my "Intro to Ballet" class last month.  The couple of classes I did attend paid off, though!  This time, at least, I knew the positions and some of the basic foot movements, which helped me get through the class with marginally less stress and bewilderment than the first time.  (And by marginally less stress, I mean very marginally -- the teacher still exclaimed, upon seeing my shoulders, "You are one stressed out lawyer! Lower these!"  And I had just congratulated myself on how non-stressed I thought I looked in the mirror...)

After class ended Amy and I stopped for brunch at Cafe Deluxe, near the National Cathedral.  It was a cute neighborhood diner with a good basic menu and quick service.



Omelette with feta, spinach and tomatoes;
breakfast potatoes and biscuit

II.

Later that night, I met Nicole for dinner at Mintwood Place.  Nicole is a very good friend who goes all the way back to my days at the Kennedy Center.  In fact, she's the person they hired to replace me when I left for law school.  She's one of the most positive, talented and coolest people I know, and she's had a meteoric career at the Kennedy Center -- in the eight years she's been there, and all by the age of 30, she's done incredibly good work and become one of the top fundraisers at the Kennedy Center.  Sometimes I wonder if I could have done similarly well had I stayed at the Kennedy Center, but then I get sad when I realize that if I'd stayed at the Kennedy Center, Nicole wouldn't have been hired and I would have missed out on a great friendship.

Anyway, it had been several months since Nicole and I last saw each other -- we were both so busy during the fall -- so it was great to be able to catch up on each other's lives (the common theme: we work too much!) and enjoy some delicious food!

Grilled baby octopus with rouille sauce, cheese crisps and asparagus

Cast-iron Amish chicken with green beans, roasted garlic and rosemary

Apple tarte a la mode