independent bookstores (remembering city lights)

The other day I read about an independent mystery bookstore in Massachusetts that was selling (and in all probability, closing). And there were great stories about that this store that made it seem like an institution in the state, and quite possibly in the mystery genre. And it got me thinking and really wanting to go to an independent bookstore again. Thinking about this morning, I thought of City Lights.

My first visit to California was junior year in high school when I went out to San Francisco to visit a friend of mine. One day when she had to work, her friend took me on a tour of the city and we passed City Lights. At the time, my only idea of the beat generation were people I imagined went to the Zodiac in Bell, Book and Candle. I may have known of Jack Kerouac, but I certainly hadn't read anything at that point.

But...it was a bookstore. And it looked cool. So we went back and I was in love. I was in love with the atmosphere, the books that lined the shelves and weren't like many other books in the bookstores I frequented. I may have bought one or two books that day, but I went back.

Another day my friend had to work and I walked around from our hotel, down around Fisherman's Wharf, and up to Chinatown and around to City Lights and bought a big bag of books. I discovered Lawrence Ferlinghetti on this trip and great Spanish poets like Jorge Guillén and Rafael Alberti, and first discovered spoken word (though I read it this time and hadn't yet heard it).

I remember going back to Pier 39 and getting clam chowder in a sourdough bowl at Boudoin bakery and reading for the rest of the afternoon there on the pier. It was almost like reading here at a cafe in the fall. It was cold (for me) in July with that breeze coming in from the ocean, and overcast that afternoon.

I digress. But I can't imagine what San Francisco would be like without City Lights. Unfortunately I don't go to independent bookstores as much as I'd like, but I'll make a conscious effort to amend that. While the big stores are great because they have nearly everything you could possibly want, it's the smaller places where sometimes great discoveries are made. I still look for more Ferlinghetti when I'm at the bookstore, and occasionally there are a few newer collections, but I've yet to see Guillén or Alberti.

And those are wonderful discoveries to make. And that sense of history that are with these places. When I think of City Lights, it's like you could imagine browsing through the somewhat obscure poetry and prose, almost waiting for Ginsberg or Kerouac to walk through the front door. These are magical places, full of creativity and history and dreams. They've been created out of a love of the art form and sustained by that.

And that's what I love about them. And miss about City Lights.

It says a lot about that place that I haven't been back since that summer, in seven years, and I can still vividly remember it.

oh DC, sometimes you're really wonderful

Ok, so besides the greatness that was the National Book Festival last weekend, today I discovered something else that has me incredibly stoked about living in this great and wonderful city (I know, these are not actually adjectives I freely use in the dead of winter...DC and I...we have a complicated relationship).

October 14 is the Turkish Festival. And Turkish coffee...how I love thee.

I still remember the first time I had Turkish coffee. It was at Café Izmir in Dallas, right there on Greenville Avenue where you can go on Tuesday nights for $2 tapas. Yes, I still am madly in love with this place and try to go every time I'm back in Dallas. And yes, I've seriously thought about moving back to Texas because then I could go there any time I wanted. Hey...living away from Dallas for six years can really make you miss a place.

After some of the most incredible food I've had, we had some dessert and coffee, and the coffee came out in these little demitasses with colorful designs. I braved it. I didn't add anything to it, and I think it's definitely ruined if you do, but the coffee was thick, and grainy and rich. And somehow it was still smooth going down and had a dark taste, almost like dark chocolate.

I've had Turkish coffee a few times since, not many, and never as good as when I have it Café Izmir. A woman who worked with my Mom brought back a bag of it after a trip to Istanbul. I still have it somewhere and I think I may need to find that for some of the cold nights coming up. But until then...I have this to look forward to.

And hey! This time I can have my future read too. What a plus.

DC...right now, I love you.

2007 national book festival

Anyone else go?

I've been in Washington for three Septembers now, but this was the first one I went to. The first one I didn't know about, the second one I was stoked about but then forgot about it. What can I say? Third time's the charm.

I was most excited about seeing Jodi Picoult. I've read her last three books and loved them. And yes, I had hoped to have a book signed, but the line was about three lines deep and I thought "you know, chances are she'll have another book out and go on another book tour. I can wait then." I admit, I'm not the most patient of people, especially when wearing a black shirt with the sun beating down on me.

Plus...I wanted to go hear more writers talk. So my friend and I wandered over to the Mystery & Thriller tent, way down on the other side. I guess I should first say that I got there around 1:00pm and that was just in time to hear Joyce Carol Oates speak. I admit...I haven't much read from her but I definitely know the name. I think I've read a few short stories. And later when I told my Dad about it, he said "wow...I think I remember reading her in high school!" So...I'll definitely check her writing out. She was a wonderful speaker. Actually, they all were.

So we caught the end of David Ignatius and then stuck around for Daniel Silva, another writer I haven't read but know the name. I've seen his name during my frequent bookstore trips on the shelves of new releases or best sellers, etc. But to be honest, I don't read a lot of Mystery and Thriller. I enjoy them, but I don't usually pick up something there. I think I'll have to deviate from my usually Fiction and Literature section to pick up his books. He was also engaging and told some interesting stories. How cool would it be to go research for your novel in Russia and visit some inner room of an old KGB headquarter? And what interesting characters to write about. I think he said his main character is an Israeli spy/art restorer. Well, I guess you have to have a cover if you're spy and that's as good as any.

After him we grabbed a quick lunch/dinner and chatted before heading back over to Fiction to hear Jodi Picoult. She was a wonderful speaker, and here's someone else who has done incredibly awesome things in the name of research: spent time in a prison, gone ghost hunting, spent time in Alaska (if it was in the winter, I'm even more impressed). She's definitely one of my favorite writers, and part of it is the way she writes, but also what she writes about. Her topics are definitely difficult to conquer, and yet they seem very real. I've only read three of her novels, but I think My Sister's Keeper and Nineteen Minutes are perfect examples. She mentioned briefly her new book about death row and organized religion that will come out in March. I'm going to keep that one in mind and pick it up when it comes out.

I do have some pictures online, not many but one of each author I saw. I know this is only a brief recap but I didn't want a very long entry and bore you with every little detail. I'm stoked I made it out this year and I will definitely go next year. As we walked back to Metro Center, my friend said that this was one of the great things about living in DC. You know? You don't have to plan a trip around these festivals and events. And the other thing Daniel Silva said was about the festival itself. He urged the audience to write their Congressman if they really enjoyed this, to make sure that it continues. This was one of Laura Bush's initiatives and has her backing, but she'll be heading back to Texas soon and then what? If the size of the festival goers is any indication, I think the Festival definitely has support. I saw so many of those little yellow bags on my walk down to the mall, and my friend saw them on the metro as she headed down, so there were countless people there before we even got there.

I'm a fan.

Library of Congress Book Festival.

how's it going?

One of the wonderful things about the internet is connectivity. We're able to remain in contact with people from high school and college and it's easier than it was pre-internet. We don't have to take the time out of our hectic schedules to sit down and write out a letter, look up the address and then post it. We don't have to wait until after 9 for a ridiculously priced long distance phone call or worrying if it's too late or too early to call.

All we have to do is shoot of a quick email, even if it only consists of four lines or so. A quick "Hey, how you're doing? What's going on? Hope all is well." Ciao.

But the thing is, I think sometimes we expect an equally short response back. The note is more just about staying in touch, making a quick connection to show I'm still there and still thinking about you and hope that this connection continues into the future.

And even if we happen to be having the worst day in awhile, or are stressed about work, life, finances or, in my case, the time and creativity to sit down and actually write/edit more than a page, we're not going to say that. Ok, some might. But I'm not. I'll say that things are great, busy and I'm just trying to get some writing in. Because if I go on for much longer, or start talking about what I'm working on, I feel like I'm digressing and no one really wants to hear all of that.

Mostly these are people you knew from class or from the halls, or friends of a friend or maybe someone you would have connected well with but just didn't get the chance to know. And who knows, they may never be close enough to hear your entire life story. But even my really good friends just need a brief email for me to say I'm thinking about you.

Lately I've had a couple of those, where you just shoot back a quick response and know that you'll get a short but sweet one back. And it's not a bad thing, but...I don't know, I guess I sort of feel it's almost superficial. But, at the same time, I'm glad to still connect with these people. I do prefer catching up in person because it feels like a greater connection. With these little connections, then maybe someday there will be an opportunity to meet up for coffee and have a real conversation and catch up on the little details.

shakespeare theatre

I do this a lot living in DC. I walk all over the city streets and pass interesting places and restaurants and think to myself "I really need to come back and check this place out." And then I don't.

Case in point: The Shakespeare Theatre.

I've walked past it numerous times while hanging out or walking through Chinatown, and I must think the same thing every time I pass it. I've been here two years now, and last night I finally went. I was asked to go see The Taming of the Shrew, which is one of my favorite Shakespeare plays. So of course, I had to go.

And I had a great time. First of all the theatre is great and I don't think there could be a bad seat there. Then there was the play itself which was a very good production. There were many moments where I laughed out loud, and not only due to Shakespeare's wonderful dialogue and jokes, but also through the movements and little things that were added.

As can so often happen with Shakespeare there were some delivered lines that were...a little over the top. And to be honest, there's something with a wedding dress (I don't want to give anything away) that initially was great, but overall I'm not so sure it worked. I still haven't decided.

But again, overall, it was wonderful. Of course now I'm really in the mood to rent it again and see Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton thunder away at each other. That may still be my favorite version, and maybe that's because that was the first version I saw ages and ages ago.

revisiting an older story

Last night I went back to a story idea I had years ago. I remember working on it Junior year in college, but since I spent the bulk of that year writing Paradise without Heaven, I think I must have started even earlier. I lost the text of that story my first year in Washington when my laptop inexplicably died. Talk about a great homecoming from vacation.

Anyway, I've thought about that story occasionally in the past two years because I really liked those characters. I liked the dynamics between them, their personality quirks, their loves, and their surroundings. The story revolves around the arts and last night I was practicing piano and that story came flooding back to me, urging me to bring these characters back to life.

So I did. I still know their names (though I have done some edits) and the personalities to these characters I haven't visited with in years. The only thing left I have of that story is an excerpt I posted online from a very early draft, a very short excerpt.

Last night I started from scratch, remembering the opening scene from years ago but hopefully embellishing more and adding more maturity to it that I hope my writing has gained in the five plus years of the initial writing.

And all I have to say is that I'm excited. I'm very excited about this one again. It's all I want to work on. So if you're looking for me within the next few weeks, chances are that's where I'll be.

another reason I miss the mountains

There was this bluff where I went to university, and I can't quite remember the first time my friend took me there, though I'm guessing it was Freshman year. It felt like it was out in the middle of nowhere, but it was really just away from the usual areas we frequented. I remember the last time I went it looked like at the base there was some construction going on, so I'm sure it's all built up now.

But you could go up there and then climb up to this other little platform and see around our little valley. You could see the highway and the cars, and all the little lights sprinkled against the darkness of the mountains. And we weren't very high up, there were certainly higher points, but it was an accessible area to go to if you needed to blow off steam and see some of the stars.

We went up there once during junior year to take a look at the fires that were creeping towards our campus, but thankfully stayed away. From my apartment that year, at night, you could see the flames licking up at the sky from the mountain ridge and it freaked me out. I was from a place where nothing burned, and this was a new concept...and to be able to see the flickering from my kitchen and living room was...well, I'm not sure there's a way to properly describe it. But I remember when it was still far off, we went up to that spot and looked at the redness on the horizon.

It was always cool up there. Partly because the temperature dropped at night, but with nothing else around, there was nothing to block a breeze, to divert around you. And it was quiet there too. We went from our cocoon in the car with house music usually blaring, to that stillness with a dull hum from the traffic below.

Elsewhere a friend this evening talked about driving through the desert and I guess that's what made me think about this. I don't think I ever went to that spot Senior year, I was too busy with papers and finals and my senior paper. Oh and resumes and figuring out what I wanted to do with my life. But if it's not built up, and if I manage to make it out to California in the near future, I'd like to go back and visit.

I think I miss that stillness and that breeze. But I've had similar moments here. And I know that if I left, I'd be reminisicing about those moments, and missing the steps of the Lincoln Memorial, or the park up the street, or even my rooftop.

909

This morning I woke thinking about California. I don't know if I maybe had a dream about it, but what I do know is that I miss California. I miss the palm trees and the mountains in the background. I miss the attitude, the sun, the breezes...I miss that state.

I was lucky enough to spend four sun-filled years there, and while there were moments that I disliked, I have a lot of great memories. And that's not just because those four years were college years. As it is, whenever I hear Placebo's Every You Every Me I am instantly back in my car with the windows down, an iced soy chai from the Starbucks on Orange Street, cruising and shifting (God I miss my car!) back to the University or up through the mountains. There's nothing better than driving through the mountains.

It's been two years since I've been back. May 2008 will mark three years. You'll probably laugh, but I was sad when I switched my cell phone to a local number. That 909 area code was the last thing connecting me to California. Except of course my friends. My friends I haven't seen in years and really need to go back and visit.

So why am I waxing nostalgic for California? I'm not really sure what made me think of it this morning. Lately I've been thinking about planning a trip back to LA and yes, maybe even visiting Redlands, sometime early next year. I'm thinking that might be a great birthday present to myself. But this morning...this morning clinched it. I have to go back before 2008 ends, since I don't think I'll make it back this year.

This morning, after lying awake for a little bit and enjoying the coolness floating in through my open window, I rolled over to check out the time. Usually on the weekends I'm up around 8ish. I know, I'm crazy. I hate it too sometimes.

But the time was 9:09 am.

I'm not a superstitious person. I don't usually believe in signs and if I do say something's a sign, I'm usually only kidding. Except maybe when it comes to shopping (if there's something I want but don't think I should buy, I'll leave. If it's still there when I go back, it was meant to be). But I like thinking that I'm supposed to go back to California to visit. I'm overdue.

And if you're unfamiliar with California area codes, 909 is the area code around San Bernardino. My University was in San Bernardino county and that was my old area code. I have some really good friends still in the area, and many others spread throughout California.

an inkling of what's to come?

It's in the air. Summer's winding down (and of course my fingers are crossed that I'm not speaking too soon). I know there will be a few more days where the air is thick and heavy and the sun shining down is a little too hot for comfort, but I'm ready to head to the grocery store and stock up on my hot chocolate and pull down a couple of sweaters and light sweatshirts from the top shelf in my closet.

Last night I was able to sleep with the window open and woke up to the scent of fresh air and a cool breeze. I even needed an extra blanket over my sheet and I admit it...I am looking forward to unpacking my down comforter and weekends spent curled up inside watching movies. I know I'm jumping a little ahead of myself, because that's more for the transition of fall to winter, but I'm already looking forward to that.

You see, as much as I love getting dolled up and going out to dance the night away, I love just as much to curl up with something warm and watch or movie or read through a great book. And even though I complain, I do like the cooler months when I can do that. Although to be fair, I only complain when I have to go outside in that ice-cold weather that freezes you down to the bone. Which for this Texas-raised girl doesn't take much.

With this morning's coolness, I wanted to stay at home with the first few light hours, drinking my coffee and writing, with the window still open and that breeze circulating through my tiny apartment. But if this continues, that may have to wait for the weekend. Especially since this morning there was more construction work and standard weekday city noise going on outside. That can be a little distracting.

montana

Get thee to Montana.

Try not to go during the forest fire season though. Those mountains in the background there are normally much more clear. Granted...they're incredible just the same.

The first three-fourths of my visit had that lingering haze from the forest fires that took away some of that 'take-your-breath away' feeling. Like obscuring the mountains from view on the other side of the Flathead. But I didn't really mind so much.

The lake at Tally was still so incredibly clear you could see straight to the bottom as far out as you looked. I come from a place where you probably can't see even a centimeter out. I was an awe the first time I stood on Tally's shores.

One day I was there we hiked up through the Hidden Lake Trail up in Glacier on the Going to the Sun road (don't you just love that name?). It was wonderful. I never saw any bears this trip, but I did see some wildlife that I'd never seen in the wild before: mountain goats, bighorn sheep, chipmunks and prairie dogs. I also saw a lot of deer this trip, but those I've seen before.

I loved hiking in the mountains, and those who know me know that I'm not an outdoors person. I grew up with concrete, steel and glass, and I don't do well with the possibility of bugs. But there was something about hiking in August way up high with a few piles of snow around you (more still on the other mountains). I didn't on the hike, but there were many times in Montana where I wore my sweater. Plus...it was still spring up there. The colors of the flowers were vibrant and clear. There was a cool breeze and the wildlife. The bighorn sheep we only saw from a distance, but the mountain goats came right up to the trail and there was even a little bit of a spat between two of them, almost like a show.

A few days before I left, we took my Dad's boat out on the Flathead for lunch and to lounge around on a Sunday afternoon. There's no better place to eat lunch than the middle of this beautiful blue lake, rocking on the waves with so much greenery around you. I even got to drive for a little bit.

To complete the full Montana experience, the night before I left I had a few bites of steak. Those of you who know me know that somehow I became a vegetarian very early in my life. I don't think I've ever had steak before, though I have tried beef in many forms. The steak had a good taste, but it's just that texture. Montana may have made me want to become more of an outdoors kind of girl, but I'm still a vegetarian.

I do intend to write more. I just wanted to give a brief recap of my visit which was pretty full: went to Glacier two days in a row, went to Tally, went out on the Flathead, filled up the days with other activities. Pretty much every day was spent doing something, starting from walking the dog with my Dad early in the mornings to hanging out late in the evenings with a drink and a movie and letting the legs rest from hiking.

I didn't get a lot of writing done while I was there, even though I had intended to do so, but I do feel quite recharged from that vacation. I hope that it's not another three years before I'm able to go again.

I have more pictures of Big Sky country here.

do a lot of reading?

Earlier today I came upon this post on Nathan Bransford's blog that referenced this article. The article says that polls indicate that one in four adult Americans read no books last year. None. Not one.

Now granted, I am an avid reader and I have probably read four books within the past month, which was apparently how many books the average person says to have read. And I know people who are less than fanatical readers and maybe reading one book in a year would be a stretch. But I guess the sheer percentage of one in four not reading any books staggers me.

Because even with the success of the Harry Potter series or The DaVinci Code, I would have thought that these might make up for that. I probably couldn't estimate the amount of bookseller bags I saw with the seventh Harry Potter the day it came out. I also saw quite a few people with it on the streets. Normally you can't really pick out what a person is reading walking down the sidewalk. I found that intriguing.

Anyway. I understand that movies, TV and the apparent greatness that is YouTube makes up for reading, but still...how many people find themselves in waiting rooms? Or at restaurants with your friend running late? Or in urban settings, public transportation? I've always found it's good to carry a book with me for those very reasons. It makes five, ten minutes go by much quicker.

I've been curious as to how many books I read and even which ones and when. About a month ago my friend pointed me to the site goodreads and I'm using that to keep track. We're in the same book club and I should play copy cat and make a seperate list for my book club books. I may eventually have to do that.

Mainly I just wanted to share that article. It's pretty interesting and actually makes me want to read more and start recommending the great books I'm reading. If you happen to be on goodreads as well, let me know if you have any suggestions. Or let me know on here. I've got a stack of books I'm reading and in my 'to read' pile, but that's never stopped me from adding to them.

Read anything good lately?

fall cleaning

Ok, so I've been doing some cleaning and reorganizing of many things: books, computer files, CDs, what have you, and have also extended this into this blog and my website. I've changed my links here to include some links about DC or writing and have removed the very personal links.

This has been done for professional reasons. If your link was removed, please, please don't take it personally. I have you bookmarked and will of course be checking you out as often as possible to continue my daily (or weekly) enjoyment.

I will have an update on Montana by the end of this lovely three day weekend. I'm actually working on my manuscript and fleshing out some other story ideas I had, so the Montana update has been placed on the back burner. But it will get done. And I will soon have pictures up, although the pictures won't do that state any justice because of the smoke from the forest fires. I think I'll be able to link to some pictures from earlier visits (three years ago) that were much clearer, but much, much colder.

Thanks for the understanding. Have a great holiday weekend!

I'm still here

I'm still here! I've been out travelling for just about the last two weeks, going from one end of the country to the other and back again (and coming back in between). And oh the stories...

But I'm back now, playing catchup at work and at home with errands and emails and that whole writing thing. It's a three day weekend this weekend (I think...assuming I have my dates correct as I write this trying to wake up) and I'll update you on what's been going on.

I went to Montana for a week about two weeks ago and then came back to DC for a day, and after that went to Florida for my Uncle's wedding. I haven't been to either state in years. It's been three years since I've been to Montana and well, quite possibly over a decade since I've been in Florida. In a way Florida could possibly count as my resolution to "go somewhere I've never been before" seeing as how I couldn't really remember anything about that state.

Anyway, just wanted to let you know I was still here and do have some stories to share. First up will be Montana with some pictures and links to more pictures. The first few days back are always a little crazy. Hope everyone's last few weeks were great as summer winds down.

waiting for Mr. Smith

A few weeks ago I watched an extremely good movie: Mr. Smith Goes to Washington. Despite my love of old black & white films and Jimmy Stewart, I had never seen this movie before. It was interesting to watch Mr. Smith's arrival, because my first arrival back in 2004 was similar...minus the honorary Senator part. I was still a student, the fall semester of my Senior year, and this was my first trip to Washington.

I was in awe of everything. Of the buildings, from the gleaming white Capitol to the little row houses lining the off-street and later in awe of the jewel-colored leaves as fall arrived. I loved that I could walk everywhere and see so much history and that each building had a little bit of antiquity to it. After all, as I had realized from my first trip to Boston many years earlier...the only thing that old in Dallas was the dirt. My first trip to Union Station made me think of the old train stations from the boom of Industrialization, making me imagine fictional giants of Dagny Taggert and John Galt. I even could picture some scene from an Hercule Poirot mystery, if he had ever ventured over to our side of the pond.

The awe was much the same less than a year later when I moved out here from sunny California, less than eight months after leaving that winter. I cross 16th Street at least twice a day and used to glance down the street at the White House and the Washington Monument. I went down to the Mall often and to the museums.

But...I don't do that so much anymore. I don't go out of my way to do these things. The awe hasn't gone. If I catch myself at a red light, waiting to cross, and can see the White House, I do have to pause and smile. I still grin and wonder who's inside the black cars of a caravan (they haven't yet become an annoyance).

But the film reminded me of that sense of awe that I loved. Many of us Washingtonians become jaded after living here. We complain about the humidity (a very valid complaint), tourists, ridiculously high cost of living, politics, etc., etc. Mr. Smith's secretary, Saunders, says something like that to the other Senator. She says that she came to DC with the idea of making a difference and now her eyes were green with (or for) dollar signs. But she changes, her idealism comes back. I'm not saying mine has gone, it's just...maybe currently liquefied with the humidity.

But even if we get fed up with the little annoyances, it's not hard to look for something to inspire. Washington is filled with monuments to the giants of American history and their triumphs. Their stories may have become the stuff of legends, but it's the idea of these people...it's the idea of America and even the idea of Washington that draws many of us here.

I know that jaded voice has crept in lately now that I've started my third year, but I also know that underneath it, I do still want to make a difference. And I know that once the monuments to those giants have failed to make me stop for a moment and stare, then it will be time to leave. I don't think I could live in a city as wonderful and beautiful as Washington if it lost its wonder.

fall cleaning?

I was going to be really good and do my spring cleaning this year.

Only...things got in the way and I kept putting it off. And putting it off some more. So, for the last few weeks I was looking forward to a three day weekend to really clean through the things I don't often get a chance to. Mainly...my closet and filing system.

But for some reason I really got in the urge to start last night. I went through all the tops (because my pants were good to go) I had hanging up and tried everything on to see if I still liked the fit and color, etc. I have a lot of clothes, and that comes mainly from working retail during college. And a lot of the stuff I have I haven't seen since college. Why keep them? Because I'm a pack rat.

This evening I went through my most of my drawers of folded tops and socks, finding a lot of 'lonely' socks that turns out didn't need to be so lonely.

InStyle had an article several issues back about shopping your closet. Which I guess is essentially what I'm doing because I'm pulling out things I know I'll never wear and uncovering items I used to wear but forget about when they get shoved to the back of my closet.

Now I realize this isn't the most riveting post I've had, but the cleaning and organizing is making me feel really good. It's good to get some things in order, especially if you're not feeling like your whole life is in order. I'm about 2/3 of the way finished with my closet (maybe about 1/2 of the way through if you count all the sweaters and sweatshirts that are folded neatly up top...but I may leave those until I'm feeling more 'sweatery' in the cooler fall weather) and looking forward to having a neat, organized closet. Which is good when you've grown up having a huge walk-in closet and now have about a shoe-box size.

I will have some more riveting posts later. Despite the artist stereotype, I'm actually a very orderly person. I like my closet organized a certain way, at work I need a clean desk in order to function, I need my files in certain ways and, yes, I alphabetize my books, first by category and subject and then by author. I had my DVDs alphabetized until I no longer had shelves and now they're just stacked up on the floor and I can tell you it's driving me crazy.

paris

I almost bought a ticket to Paris a little earlier today. It took a lot of willpower not to hit the purchase button on cheaptickets.com. Last year, right around tax refund time, I planned to take a trip to Paris sometime in the fall. Earlier this summer I thought I'd shelve that idea and use those funds to pay down some bills.

But I'm tired of waiting.

Years ago I had the opportunity to travel around Europe, and came pretty close to doing that until I had an epiphany: I can't experience Europe (Paris, Vienna, Rome, Venice) in a week. I can't enjoy the cities when I'm spending, at most, a day and a half in those cities. I need to spend at least a long weekend in each city. Especially Paris.

So I didn't go. And I don't regret not going. Because I know when I can stroll leisurely through the Left Bank and visit maybe one museum a day and spend the afternoons drinking espresso near the Seine and reading Hemingway or Voltaire that it'll be worth it.

But I'm tired of waiting.

25 is a good year, I think, to off and go to Paris. And I have a several months before I even turn 25. And if it gets to be towards the end of 2008, well...then I can impulse buy a trip to Paris. As it is, the idea of going isn't completely shot for this year. It's going to be highly tempting and I'll have to work to see what I can work on and see if I can convince a friend of mine to meet me there, but we'll see.

In the meantime, I satiated the need to impulse shop with buying a pair of shoes. In my defense, I do need them. I have a wedding to go to in two weeks and the best summer sandals I have are a little scuffed since they're my most comfortable and I've gone out dancing numerous times.

I needed these.

thoughts springing from the portrait gallery

I went to the Portrait Gallery for the first time yesterday. I know, I know...two years here and I haven't been. And what's even sadder is that I go to Chinatown a lot, so...I walk past the museum a lot. Anyway, I figured I'd kill the early part of an afternoon and check it out, especially because of the American Presidents Portrait exhibition.

I really liked the second floor. I went upstairs and first came across the sculpture of The Dying Tomahawk (excuse me please if my memory has failed me here. The name was along these lines) which reminded me of The Dying Gaul. Allow me a moment to get off topic. I just have to profess my love of this statue and maybe because it is such an incredible and, yes, even a little triumphant, portrayal of my Celtic heritage. Because, when you look at it, the Celt is dying but he's still strong, raising himself up and fighting against his defeat. Which is something I think the Celts did until the very, very end. I will definitely be making a trip to Rome to see this in person.

Anyway...back to the museum. There was another painting that I didn't get to see the title of, but it's in an enclave all by itself (it's huge, for one) and the room was draped with red velvet curtains. It's of the Sierra Nevadas, I heard someone say, and is breathtaking. Looking at it, you just have to wonder about what this country looked like to the first explorers. I think occasionally you can still get a glimpse of this, but...well, you'll have to take a look at this painting. Go to the Portrait Gallery if for nothing else than to see this painting. Second floor, you can't miss it.

On to the American Presidents: What I liked about the exhibition was the statues and portraits and busts of the first presidents. I have always been enthralled with the start of "American" history, with these giants of American history. They were brilliant and articulate and courageous and while walking through these portraits I had to wonder: Have they simply become legendary to pass on the dream?

Is it possible that they really were larger than life even during their time period? And I don't just mean the very early Presidents, but all those early figures. And even throughout history there have been extraordinary people: Julius Caesar, Alexander the Great, Cleopatra, Boudicea, Napoleon, Socrates, Aristotle, Chief Seattle, etc., etc.

I'm reminded of that Shakespeare quote from Twelfth Night: "Be not afraid of greatness: some men are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them." Which speaking of Shakespeare, he is definitely included in the above list.

Or were they simply ordinary people doing ordinary things and legends, like chopping down the cherry tree, started to spring up to make them larger than life? I find this difficult to believe, and I don't even want to believe it. I like believing there have been towering people roaring through the pages of history. Going back to Shakespeare, when I've heard people spout the theory that it was several people writing under the name of Shakespeare, I want to refuse to believe that. Why couldn't one man be so intelligent and eloquent that words flowed from his pen in lyrical brilliance?

Which leads me to wonder about today. Are we too cynical to recognize and encourage that one-man greatness? Or is it something that will only be recognizable generations later to historians looking back? If the circumstances create the man, then I think the circumstances are there. And in today's world of instant news, I would think we'd be able to pick him out in an instant. Or if he's out there, are we, the cynical society, just looking for an excuse to knock him down?

In other news, also sparked by my trip to the Portrait Gallery, I did have a new idea while on the second floor. I won't say anything about it now, mainly because I don't really have anything more than the seed of the idea that I really need to work on fleshing out. But I love the rush that comes when a new idea hits me, the excitement and the urgency of needing to write it down. As it came to me, I just wanted to run home and start typing. Luckily I had a piece of paper and a pen and could jot down the few key ideas so I could enjoy the galleries a little longer. But...that's what I'll be working on today probably.

happy anniversary to me

Two years ago today I moved into my apartment in DC and, if I remember correctly, spent the evening putting together my futon so I could sleep that night, and using a packing box as a dinner table with a Whole Foods ready-to-go meal being served out of the plastic containers.

Oh yeah, it was that classy.

And now, two years later, my apartment is packed with bookshelves full of books, proper and clean plates (they were still in the boxes when I ate that first dinner).

So I have survived for two years, though there were a few periods where survival was questionable (usually right around December or January). And, last year as well, as the end of July starts creeping up and it's time for me to decide whether or not I want to sign on for another year, I think about and think about it and think about it some more.

And I made the commitment (and actually added a few extra months) because even though the last two years have been good, you know what they say: Third time's the charm. So...I have a feeling my third year in DC is going to be great. I feel like some things are finally starting to get in order, which I think will give me some more opportunities to do some more of the things I want to do (I know...very cryptic), and I've got some ideas as well for the upcoming year.

Once again...happy anniversary to me.

I have a new goal

I love to travel and even dream about traveling. I like thinking up new places that would be incredible to see and add them to my list of places to visit. Which...that list is now practically every country in the world. But I have a more definiable goal to state (and state it so I will eventually keep it...theoretically). I want to visit the 7 Wonders of the World.

Eventually I'd like to up that to the 21 short-listed wonders, but I figure that those 7, along with Paris and Greece, aren't bad places to start.

It just may take awhile, and some other trips may come up in between.

I know these were announced almost two weeks ago, but my colleague and I got to talking about them while discussing August's National Geographic. I don't think it's out on stands yet, I just got mine the other day, but right now I'd suggest picking it up. I'm already ready to plan a trip to Mexico (and hey! then I could cross Chichén Itzá off my list!)

words inspired by...

BookEnds had such a great post today on the inspiration behind the agents' love of books. I've decided to add my own thoughts on those who inspired me to love books and become a writer. Because...well, I'm not so sure it's something innate. Talent may be, but I'm not sure about the passion. And so, we have:

My Mother It must have been every night that we stayed up reading when I was little. Sometimes it was a novel with a chapter (or two or three if I was on top of my persuasion game) and other times a short book. And I also saw her with a book, or a crossword puzzle, during downtime. Which, with little girls, probably wasn't very much. And of course that fostering of this love by buying me books. I had my own little library going back in the day with Nancy Drew and The Baby-Sitters' Club, among others.

My grandmother She inspired a love of story telling, even if our tastes have since diverged. Primarily I credit her with getting me interested in mythology with a story of Thor. And of course she also did, and still does, have stacks of book lining the living room.

Robin Williams Growing up I was in love with Dead Poets' Society. I wanted a teacher like Mr. Keating and I wanted, at one point, to become a teacher like Mr. Keating. And even though it was more about thinking for yourself instead of reading, you can learn so much by reading. And of course, there is that one scene where they're beginning to read poetry and he has them rip out the "how to measure poetry" section from their books, to teach his students to delve beyond, to the feeling inside the words.

Carrollton-Farmers Branch Public Library Anyone who knows me now knows that I prefer to own my books. Yes, somewhat of an expensive addiction. But when I was little, I looked forward to summers and the...I don't want to say contest, but I guess that's what it was, that the Library had to encourage reading. You got little prizes and maybe your name on the wall for finishing a certain number of books. It didn't take me long to finish, but it was one thing I looked forward to (and yes, I know...I was a nerd and probably still am one).

Ayn Rand As an adult there are several authors I'm drawn to. I'm listing Ayn Rand because I love the story and the philosophy behind her novels and I love the characters that she creates. I don't think I could ever write a philosophical novel, but Atlas Shrugged is my favorite novel. Along this same line then, other authors that have drawn me to read more and write are Anne Rice (her worlds are incredible!), Thomas Jefferson, Ralph Waldo Emerson, and I could really go on and on here.

Mrs. Morris My high school Creative Writing teacher. I took her two creative writing class and loved pretty much every minute of class. Well...except the reading part. Reading aloud terrified me, but I did it, in class and in some of the few Writer's Group meetings I was able to attend. When I was home over the holidays I went through this old trunk of stuff to do a little cleaning and organizing and came across an award for Creative Writing I received my senior year at the Senior Awards Ceremony. Each subject gave an award out to an outstanding senior and I hate to say it, but I'd forgotten I'd received this one. I remembered I got one in Economics since that's partially why I changed to an Econ major, but I didn't remember that I received the second one, which I think at the time may have meant more. I was almost tempted to bring it back to DC with me and hang it up next to my degree. :) My teacher knew that I wanted to be a writer, and with that award, she told me that she thought I could be one. That was a nice thing to remember.

Ok, I'm done. I know there are others, especially writers I love since there are so many, but these are the few who came to my mind first. I know several of the people who read this also love to read. So...who has inspired you? Or if it's music or...art, etc., that you love, what are your inspirations behind this?

a little warm

It was more than a little warm outside. So what do I do to add to the heat? I make pasta with an Arrabiata sauce, which apparently means "angry." Basically it means I add a lot of crushed red pepper (and I think I may have added too much). It definitely had a little kick to it. I like my food spicy, but I did have to get a glass of milk in order to get rid of the tingly feeling along my lips. It was great to cook something again as it's been a few weeks since I've really done something in the kitchen and I miss that. I don't know if I'd go so far as to say I'm a good cook, but I do love it.

I'm also having fun with the new digital camera.

I went back down to the Mall this morning/afternoon to check out the new exhibtion at the Freer and Sackler Galleries: Encompassing the Globe: Portugal and the World in the 16th and 17th Centuries. This is another exhibition that I recommend. There were boxes and swords made of intricately carved silver and ivory, and others made out of tortoiseshells that were nearly translucent. There was this globe that turned into two goblets by breaking in half, with the Southern Hemisphere supported by Atlas and the Northern Hemisphere supported by another, smaller globe (or something...I was caught by Atlas and the idea that this sculpture broke into the two goblets).

It's interesting because I don't think Portugal was really thought of as a major player back in the day. They started off strong, but when we (or at least me) think of the colonies, it's England, France and Spain. But Portugal had influence not just in the New World with Brazil, but also throughout India, Japan, China and Africa.

There's a lot to see at the exhibition, and it's broken up into the spheres of influence. And if you are looking to escape the heat, you could do worse than to spend a few hours in a musuem. It was freezing inside!

And of course the Folklife festival is still going on. I cruised through it on my way to the Freer. I visited last weekend and walked through it more, but today I overheard some Irish singing and some Mekong drumming. I wish I could get my voice to mimic the Irish singers, but I think I'd sound ridiculous if I tried. So I'll leave that to Enya.

if a tree falls...

Last night I met an old high school friend for dinner, and since it's been about six years since I last saw her, we obviously had a lot to catch up on. We met for some delicious Thai, tasty, fruity drinks and about two hours of conversation. When I left her at Dupont and turned to walk down P Street, I saw the flashing lights of a cop car blocking P at 18th.

My first thought was: "Oh dear Lord...what happened?" Especially since I saw flares, no smashed cars and the yellow police tape stretched across the street.

No one seemed to be panicking, so...whatever it was, couldn't have been too bad.

As I walk down P I see the tape at 17th Street end of the block stretched out across the sidewalk on the side I was on, so I crossed over to the other side (strange to do that without having to look for oncoming traffic) and that was when I saw it: half of a tree stretched out across the street, it's leaves brushing the opposite sidewalk in a frenzy of green, possibly half the height of one of the walkups it lay in front of.

The base of the 'branch' (even though it could well have been it's own tree) was still connected to the tree and it must have happened shortly before I left my friend at Dupont, seeing as how the cop was only just setting up the flare at one end. The 17th end already had flares going and the tape secured.

It's been a very busy day so I haven't had a chance to look at news and see what exactly happened. There was one car you could see a little through the leaves, but any damage was difficult to tell. I passed one woman who commened on her car being on our side of the street, just before the tree.

But despite the danger, the trees are gorgeous and in the heat and humidity they at least provide brief respite from the sun.

recommendations

I must have slept funny last night because I woke up this morning and my back just ached. Either that or I'm just getting old. But anyway...

I do have a couple of recommendations as this weekend draws to a close.

The first is the current photography exhibition at National Geographic, from the photo camp in a Ugandan refugee camp. I went to see it with some friends yesterday and I highly recommend. What I remember most from the captions of these pictures was one girl saying that she was 17 and didn't even know how to read or write her own name. Can you even begin to imagine? Another younger child said he wanted to go to school and become a doctor, but that would never happen. That statement saddened me. Here we're taught to imagine that we can be anything we want and there's a child that wants badly to become a doctor, but at such a young age he's already abandoning his dream.

Others wondered if their parents were still alive after the Rwandan genocide which, if you know your recent history, was 13 years ago. Imagine going for over a decade knowing this horrific event happened and you had no news of what happened to your family. There was a picture of a machete describing the importance of a machete for survival but also the horror because of the damage the weapons did in Rwanda.

After taking in the photos, we sat in for the film God Grew Tired of Us, which is something I've often wondered. Not of me, but of the world. Somehow I'm inclined to think that we we do to each other today is far worse than what happened thousands of years ago when we were first almost wiped off the face of the planet with a flood (if, of course, you happen to believe that story). The film was wonderful, and I somehow managed to hold back tears for most of it, until the end.

There were a few lighter moments in the film as well. Most of these were with the relationships between the Lost Boys. One refugee who was headed to the US was discussing electricity and how he's never used it. He thought it would be very hard for him since he never used it. Imagine going through life with these things we take for granted. I have joked with my parents wondering how they managed to grow up without computers or the internet. But imagine not growing up without electricity or running water, especially when those things are available.

I think it was John Dau in the film who talked about the End Days in the Bible and how when he traveled from one camp in Ethiopia back through Sudan to another camp in Kenya that he wondered if that was what was happening, if God had grown tired of the people on Earth to make them go through what they did.

If you get the chance, I very strongly recommend watching this. I'd like to read the book but right now I've got a few in my "to read" pile and several on my shelves that I would like to reread.

Since I've already gone on long enough, my final recommendation is A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini; I finished it yesterday. I'll admit there were a few moments when I didn't want to read anymore because it was just so depressing, but I kept reading because I kept thinking that it just had to get better. The lives of these women who didn't deserve their hardships had to get better. But the writing was poignant and the story heart-wrenching. I won't go further because, again, I've gone on long enough, but suggest if you're looking for something to read, check this book out.

favorite composer

While waiting for some tea to steep, I sat down at my keyboard and practiced a little piano. I moved the lesson book and as the pages flipped back to my current piece, two words caught my eye: March Slav. Oh, I was stoked.

Those who know me should know my favorite composer. Yes, Beethoven has beautiful and powerful pieces and there's a Bach concerto that I love in its simplicity, but Tchaikovsky...well, this may sound lame, but Tchaikovsky moves me. And it's not the piece that people might think, it's the Overture. It's the March Slav (Slavic March).

Granted the piece in my lesson book is a simplified version, I still played it over and over and now I have Tchaikovsky on my stereo with a full orchestra playing the March Slav. It's...sultry, and hypnotic and powerful all at the same time.

Now...I've had several very cool experiences here in DC, some of those once-in-a-lifetime things. I've been to a few receptions with some very important people, I was on the White House lawn last summer for the welcoming ceremony for Prime Minister Koizumi (no Elvis impersonations though) and have danced for hours to top, international DJs. But the coolest experience by far was opening night for the National Symphony Orchestra at the Kennedy Center and hearing the March Slav. Along, of course, with the Overture of 1812 complete with fireworks.

To anyone, anyone, who has the opportunity to go hear an orchestra perform Tchaikovsky, I say Go! Go and enjoy and be mesmerized. The percussion will get inside you and warm your blood while the strings will send chills down your spine and give you goosebumps.

Ok. I'm done. I don't think I reveal my "nerdy" side very often, but it comes out with a couple of things: books and music.

And maybe British comedy.

out of practice

The great thing about living in Washington is that everything is pretty much within walking distance. The downside is that my four-inch stilettos are not necessarily the most comfortable pair of shoes to go traipsing around down to the mall and back. In Dallas where I used to wear heels all the time there really isn't anywhere to do a lot of walking...except maybe the Galleria or from one end of the parking lot to the mall.

I do have several pairs of cute, comfortable shoes, such as my Coach tennis shoes, a pair of stylish black tennis shoes and of course, my all white Adidas for jeans and Sunday afternoons. However, I felt Sunday brunch with a good friend I haven't seen in months called for something...a little different. I wore a pair of dark wooden sandals with a three-inch heel. I figured brunch was only a few blocks away.

Now that I'm back home and wanting to give my feet the rest of the day off, I realize I may have been a little too hopeful. The decorative leather did rub a little skin off and of course, hard wood is not the best thing to stand on and walk for several blocks.

I am not the sort of girl to give up after one try. I may bring these shoes with me to work and try them around the office to break them in, eventually hoping to wear them out and about again. Besides...they're super cute and chic!

And I'm female. I'm a short female. It's the price I am willing to pay. It's like guitar. When you haven't played in awhile it hurts because your callouses are gone and you just have to wait for them to build back up...or so I'm told. I remember the first few (and only) times I played my friend's guitar, my fingers hurt very much afterwards.

for you Dad

I remember you taking down Atlas Shrugged from your bookshelf and telling me that it was "the best book I've read," and telling me that I would enjoy it just as much. Four reads later and I still love it. I love it even more when I tell you that I would like to be Dagny Taggert, and you tell me I already am.

I remember the condo and you buying your Harley and taking me out for a ride, years and years and eons after the first time I rode one and me clinging to you, terrified of the speed and the wind rushing past. And then I remember I could never get enough of riding on the back with you, wanting so badly to learn how to drive one (although...I also remember trying to support that huge bike in your garage all on my own and realizing a Harley might be a little too heavy for me).

I still remember the first time you introduced me to sushi and I wondering how on earth that little amount of food could possibly sustain anyone and how chewy octopus was (and I haven't eaten octopus since). And of course the last time I saw you was in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles over sushi after my graduation.

I only vaguely remember the old Virginia house, but my only clear memories are the late nights when I couldn't sleep and I could always find you downstairs. I can't recall my bedroom, or the living room or the kitchen of that house, but the downstairs living area I can still picture.

I like that I inheritied your quest to learn how things work, and to make it on my own and to work hard for what I want. I have to admit that I'm a little dismayed I inherited broad shoulders but without your height. Although...you've heard me complain about this nearly every time I go shopping.

When I was little, the only bedtime stories I wanted were your personal stories of a certain troublemaker. I can only imagine your confusion at being dragged through the mall, having been "blessed" with only daughters, and trying to figure out what on earth MAC cosmetics were, or listening to me try to explain why I had to have a Kate Spade wallet for my birthday. I'm sure you must have zoned out if we ever tried to discuss the merits over Armani over Versace, just as I have to admit I zoned out through all the Home Depot and Sears trips.

Dad...you survived having "girly" girls and all that entailed. You came to all my recitals: the piano, dance, band concerts..., and to many of my soccer games, even if I could never discuss football with you or tell you the purpose of a wide reciever.

I'm sure you're still bewildered where this little vegetarian girl came from.

I will think of you whenever I come across a Brugger's Bagels or hear Friends in Low Places. I think of you whenever I pick up Atlas Shrugged, the book that did change my life (Father knows best, right?). I will always think of you when I catch a whiff of Old Spice or see any little blonde haired girl dancing on her Father's toes. I still eat my pancakes in silver dollars and sometimes "city sidewalks" are the only lyrics I remember too. Sushi Awaji just isn't the same without you.

Happy Father's Day! I may not be that little blonde haired girl anymore, but I have a feeling I will always be a Daddy's girl.

women renaissance artists

First of all, I'm glad I went yesterday to the National Museum of Women in the Arts. I had thought about putting it off today, but as I sit here with my cup of coffee on my couch, I look out the window and see sheets of rain pouring down.

So I finally had a chance to go see the exhibtion of Italian Women Painters from Renaissance to Baroque. I'd recommend going, especially just to see the inside of the museum. The entrance hall and grand staircases are incredible! In the exhibition, I will say I preferred the end of it, especially the different paintings of Judith. The reason I liked these best is because the colors were so vibrant. In the beginning, the paintings were dark, and that may have been because they were mainly portraits. I think the text said something along the lines that women made their commissions from portraits, unlike male artists who were able to do these great, elaborate scenes.

The paintings and drawings were very good though, especially the skin tone. I could get the shading on colors, but skin tones always tripped me up, so I love seeing how smoothly these great painters are able to do this. But I'm still partial to the colors that almost take your breath away (there's this painting that I love seeing at the DMA because the cloaks are incredible! The light blue on the cloak is so vivid, along with this deep, rich red).

I have more to say about what I've done this weekend, but I'll end here so this post doesn't drag on. If you're looking to escape the heat and humidity, I'd suggest checking out the exhibition. The other nice thing is that even though it was a Saturday afternoon, it was kind of empty. Since it's not really by anything, there weren't many (any?) tourists. It may also have been because unlike the museums along the mall, this one has a $10 fee ($8 if you're a student, and free if you're a member).

Back to writing. I love writing on rainy days, perched in the corner of my futon with my coffee. I tend to make large pots on the weekends, aiming to spend a lot of time sitting and writing.