Notes from the Underbelly

I’m in a busy season at work, hence the lack of scintillating posts. Or, y’know, my usual rambles. Whatever.

My mini-fridge arrived safe and sound; pictures to follow once I load ‘er up next week. Because, yes, I took pictures. Some people document the arrival of children. I document the arrival of small, food-bearing appliances.

My friend Amber’s suggestion aside, I don’t think I’m going to call it Fridget Jones. I’ve never been one to name inanimate objects, be they cars, appliances (Stevie the tv, anyone?), or otherwise. Bestowing lasting monikers on things has always confused me; as a kid, I gave my pets person names that I liked because, well, why wouldn’t you? Thus I was the 7-year-old with a gerbil named…Ashley. (After that, inspired by Barney, I had two in a row named Zippity. Sometimes inspiration strikes. But sometimes you just steal from a PBS show.)

Summer interns are in full force here at federal-agency-that-will-not-be-named. While it’s wonderful to no longer be the youngest person in the building (save for the IT contractors who appear to get recruited out of elementary school), I continue to be disconcerted at how students get younger every year. Am I old? I was born in the 1980s. I work with people who already had one marriage under their belts in the 1980s. I can’t be old, can I?

Happy Friday.

Least Helpful Directions EVER

You’d think I’d be used to confused tourists by now, but I swear it throws me every time I’m approached. On the way to the bus stop yesterday afternoon, I had this conversation:

Tourist man, with wife and kids in tow: “Do you know where the White House is?”

I briefly consider the following options:

a) Pretend not to speak English.
b) Pretend not to know what or where the White House is.
c) Help the poor guy, who’s obviously perplexed with D.C.’s heat and streets.

I go with option c, since I’m obviously a local. And since I occasionally try not to be a total bitch.

Me: (points east) “It’s over there. 1600 Pennsylvania.”

Him: “1600 Pennsylvania. Okay.” (walks away)

All right, here are the ways in which I botched that exchange:

1. I pointed. Though I work mere blocks from the White House, you can’t see it from where we were standing. Thus my point encompassed approximately 25% of the District of Columbia as far as that guy could tell.

2. As if to provide further explanation, I gave him the street address. Perhaps the most well-known street address in freaking America. I’m sure his inner monologue went something like, “Oh, the White House is on 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue? YOU DON’T SAY!” See, in my mind it made sense because we were a few blocks from 1900 Penn. Not that I explained any of that, mind you. I just…assumed the guy would read my mind, I guess.

As I got to my bus stop, I looked back at the tourist family and saw them sitting forlornly on some benches. I’m going to pretend it was because they were hot and tired.

Yeah.

Charlottesville: Old Houses, Balloons, and Fondue

Day 1

As all good trips must do, this one started with a good dinner. At The Melting Pot. During which we maybe ordered too much dessert.

Oh, never mind. No such thing.

Charlottesville’s pedestrian mall was shockingly crowded. I mean, no offense to tiny towns, but really? Apparently this is what happens when you don’t have an Ikea nearby.

Day 2

Here’s the thing you may not realize about hot air ballooning. For meteorological reasons beyond my ken, it only occurs at sunrise or sunset. Thus I found myself waking at 4:45 a.m. on day 2. Of my VACATION. Luckily, inflating the balloon involved fire.

And the ride itself meant views like these.

Plus, waking up that early means you’re ready for a huge waffle at brunch.

We spent the afternoon at Ash Lawn-Highland, the home of James Monroe.

The tour guide asked that we follow “normal museum rules” and not take pictures inside the house. You know what normal museum rules are? YOU CAN TAKE PICTURES WHEREVER YOU DAMN WELL PLEASE. Grr.

Since it was the 4th of July and all, we finished the day with fireworks at the big downtown park. Since we’re in an economic collapse and all, this was scheduled to be the last year. They went out with (brace yourself) a bang, HAHAHAHAHA.



(The preceding video was courtesy of TheBoy. Thank you, honey.)

Day 3

Monticello was the main attraction on day 3; it’s probably Charlottesville’s best-known landmark.

Again, I was not allowed to take pictures inside the house. Again, I was pissed. Fortunately, the kitchen was in a special subterranean wing and not inside the house. Ha!

We finished the trip with a stop to this great mill/general store.

And managed to buy one postcard and two pieces of candy. Bow before our self-control!

The Open Door

How did I not know about this until now?

What happened to Ben Gibbard's glasses?

Where will this album fall on Death Cab's awesomeness spectrum?

Discuss.

In My Opinion: Away We Go

TheBoy and I survived a long weekend in Charlottesville, thanks for asking. There were fireworks…a hot air balloon ride…Monticello…champagne…it was good. Tiring, but good. And he didn’t leave me on the side of the road, either. Bonus.

Pictures and trip recap to follow, as soon as I dig my camera out from underneath all the Pop-Tarts I stole from the hotel’s continental breakfast area. Shutup.

After one failed attempt, I believe I have finally found Juno’s companion film: Away We Go. If you’re a JKras fan at all, you perhaps know this movie as “the one where he’s all scruffy.” If the abbreviation JKras means nothing to you, please read on but also go here.

Away We Go is the story of a young couple about to embark on that joyous milestone of adulthood: having a baby. (I say “joyous” because I’m told that it’s quite the wonderful experience. However, as I do not consider myself kid-inclined, I hope to maintain a solely theoretical knowledge of parenting. Until they change how the whole delivery process works, OW OW OW no.)

The young couple, as played by John Krasinski (JKras…get it?) and Maya Rudolph aren’t sure whether they’re ready to be parents at all. Not in that “We really don’t have as much saved as we should have” way. More like a “We are not even ready for a dog” way. There’s actually a scene in which they repeatedly wonder “Are we fuckups?” to each other…and can’t decide on an answer.

So, long story short, these two are going to need all the help they can get. Luckily, while her parents are deceased, his (played by Catherine O’Hara and Jeff Daniels) are right in the same area.

Oh, but wait. They announce a couple of months before the baby’s born that they’re moving. To Europe. For two years.

WTF.

After getting over the initial shock, the couple realizes that they no longer are tied to…anywhere. So they set about finding a new home. They try Phoenix. And Montreal. And several places in-between. But finding a home is more complicated than just finding a house. They eventually do, of course, but it’s quite a journey.

I think of Away We Go as Juno: thirtysomething. We again examine the consequences of pregnancy. In this case, the focus is more on the macro level; the mom-to-be isn’t freaked out about giving birth. She’s worried about what comes after. I think that sort of perspective can be gained only with age.

JKras and Rudolph have good chemistry. I particularly liked the scenes in which she was freaking out and he would calm her down. I’ve certainly been part of a few scenes like that myself. Ahem. (Please note: I am not casually announcing that I am having a baby or anything. I’m usually freaking out because we can’t decide on dinner plans or a movie is sold out. Thank you.)

I also enjoyed Allison Janney’s role as a capital-C Crazy friend of Rudolph’s character and Maggie Gyllenhaal as an uber-hippie friend (from Wisconsin, holla) of JKras’s. Casting makes or breaks an indie like this, and I think it was definitely an asset here.

Though not typical summer fare, Away We Go is certainly a nice change of pace from talking robots and boy wizards (not that I don’t love them all equally). It’s the Nilla wafer that’s hiding in your bag of Oreos.

Take the Day Off

As many of you head off to picnics, barbecues, and displays of colored gunpowder, allow me to wish you and your families a very happy Independence Day. I’m heading to a long weekend in Charlottesville, Virginia. In exchange for Monticello and gelato, TheBoy gets a hot air balloon ride and a vineyard tour. Everybody wins.

Let’s meet back here on Monday with tales of watermelon and...well...

Oh, and do try to keep all your limbs intact, okay?

A Trio of Short Open Letters

Dear Orville Redenbacher,

Until I watched a recent episode of American Eats on the History Channel, I had no idea how much work you did to bring microwave popcorn to people like me. God bless you, sir.

Cheers,
Heather

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Dear Mercedes-Benz Driver Parked in the Goodwill Parking Lot,

Someday, I hope to be you. But with a Lexus.

Cheers,
Heather

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Dear SunTrust Banker Lady,

Thank you for not giving me too much grief when I closed my accounts. It’s not my fault the credit union’s rates kick your butt.

Also, thank you for calling me Miss Heather. No one does that since I stopped teaching 1st and 2nd grade Sunday school.

Cheers,
Heather