Anyway, Outlook of all things seems to be fairly stable, so I'm going to attempt to write this journal entry into an e-mail and send it to myself at home, and I'll post it when I get there.
What's funny is that the journal entry I started writing apologized for the lack of pictures from DC because I couldn't get to the section of network here at work that houses the graphics processing software. But now I can't even get into my own machine, really.
So let me tell you about the trip to DC, which was a lot of fun.
First a word about karma: Monday night on the Hall, KT announced that she was going to take a shower and would be back in five minutes. I've known KT for years, now, and it still surprises me how fast she showers. I can't figure out how she manages to shampoo and rinse her hair even once that fast, much less wash any other parts of her body. (Note to skeptics: She doesn't smell funny or have that weird hair that comes of soap still clinging to it, so she's obviously managing to accomplish her washing. I just can't figure out how.) Anyway, I couldn't resist teasing her when she came back that she'd taken seven minutes instead of five.
So Tuesday Matt and I are getting ready to leave, and in order to avoid having to pay DC prices for gas, I decide to fill up just before we go, even though I've still got more than three-quarters of a tank. I tell Matt as I get out of the car that it'll be about five dollars worth of gas.
Karma, I'm telling you: It was seven.
Kris had told Braz she was interested in going to some of the less-absurdly-popular museums in DC. "Off the beaten path," was the phrase used, I believe. As we were exiting the interstate, headed for our hotel, Matt and I caught a sign: Weems-Botts Museum. It didn't even say a museum of what. Matt and I figured that had to be pretty well off the beaten path, if anything was! (No, we didn't go. Sorry. Maybe next time.)
So anyhow, Matt and I got to our hotel at about 8:30, and Braz and Kris showed up not too long afterwards. We talked for a good while, went over to their room to watch some movies on Braz's computer, and decided we were hungry, or at least munchy. We wound up at the 7-11 a couple of buildings over, where Kris and I grabbed some chips and chocolate and drinks. "The boys" wanted something more substantial and decided to walk another store or two over to the Blimpie sub shop. Kris and I headed back to the hotel, and when they caught up with us, they were toting subs, and had apparently gone back to the 7-11 for chips.
And while they were there, they had stumbled into probably the most pointless flavored chip ever to be invented: Heinz ketchup flavor. Now, I can tell that the company is trying to leap in on the market started by the introduction of the KC Masterpiece barbecue chips, but ketchup??? Don't try to defend them to me: I used to put ketchup on my plain chips, too, but it's still absurd.
(That's right, this is one long series of anecdotes. Just accept it and move on.)
So the next day we headed into Springfield, which was where the hotel's desk clerk had told us was the nearest place to catch the Metro. I didn't get to learn how to buy Metro tickets, because Braz - being all excited and everything - jumped in and pushed all the buttons before I could read any of the displays. But I looked at the map for a while and found that it was relatively well labeled though if I'd been by myself I'd have been up shit creek - I knew the theater was at 13th and E streets, but as near as I could tell there was nothing on the Metro map to help me pick a stopping point.
Luckily, Kris knew that the Metro central station was closest to our destination, and since we'd decided it would be a good idea to go to the theater first - so we had a good idea of where it was and how far from the station - that's what we did. For my faithful readers who have been waiting breathlessly to hear how I coped with modern mass transit, I'll end your suspense: I did finally catch on, sortof, though like I said, unless you were going to a destination which had a Metro station named after it ("Arlington Cemetery" or "Smithsonian" for example) I had no idea how to match the destination to a station. But I'd guess if I'd had to I could've called the theater and asked, "Which Metro station?" and they could have told me. It took me until almost the very end of the day to get the hang of figuring out where our train would be and how to tell whether the train in front of you was the one you wanted, but I eventually got it. I'm never going to be a big fan of mass transit, though. I hate walking too much.
Anyway. We eventually got to the central station and emerged into DC. We stopped immediately at a corner coffee store for caffeine (except for Matt, who contented himself with sugar) and walked the block and a half to the theater. Since Kris and I both were having trouble drinking our coffee and walking at the same time, we sat in front of the theater for a while and sipped our beverages of choice.
Is it only the big cities of the US that are like this? While we were sitting there, a gorgeous black Bentley car pulled up to the curb. A man got out of the back seat and went into the building next to the theater. A minute or two later, his driver got out and leaned against the car, waiting. A minute later, an equally gorgeous silver Mercedes pulled up behind the Bentley and much the same happened. The two drivers talked to each other a bit - we thought from their manner that they didn't know each other, or at least not well - they were just sharing the bond of profession. We frankly ogled the cars (from a polite distance, of course) and continued drinking our coffee. Less than thirty feet away, a homeless man was sleeping on a bench. A little while later, as we were finishing our drinks and getting ready to leave, that the Bentley's driver had some small bumps in his jacket, placed... Well, placed pretty much where a shoulder holster for a handgun might be.
At some point, we were riding the Metro and we passed through a station called L'Enfant Plaza. Matt looked at me and said, "The Baby Plaza!"
I took it a step further: "The Baby Place." I thought about it for a moment, then whispered, "Don't tell Kris!"
(We told her and Braz later, of course, because it was funny. Kris has a thing for babies.)
We decided we'd go to the Smithsonian. (So much for "off the beaten path.") The plan was to go to the Air and Space museum and have lunch at the restaurant on its premises. Walking from the Metro station to the Air and Space center, though, we passed the Art gallery, which was showing an exhibit on Salvador Dali. Well, of course we had to go in.
They had some really lovely pieces. There was a sketched study for Braz's favorite Dali piece, Spain and originals of things every third college student had put on their wall in print form which of course did the originals no justice. The piece that blew me away, though, did so by surprise. Ascension is, I gathered, considered amazing because of its wonderful use of depth - the picture seems to follow you as you walk by it. But it grabbed me because the tears on the angel's face were so perfectly done that I made the security guard nervous by leaning very close to it to reassure myself they were only paint, and not pearls or drops of glass that had been fixed to the canvas. They had it as a print in the shop, but I passed - it just wasn't as astonishingly real looking.
By the time we'd finished there and made it to the Air and Space Center, we were famished. Also, my feet were starting to hurt. So we went to lunch. We had our choice between a cafeteria-style eatery, or a sit-down restaurant. The place was swarming with kids - apparently Wednesday had been a big school trip day - and so I suggested the restaurant, accepting in advance that it would be absurdly overpriced.
We were buttering our rolls when I saw Braz's eyes get huge. He covered his gaping mouth with one hand. I looked at the party to which his eyes were focused - several distinguished older gentlemen and a couple of well-dressed ladies. Well, this was Washington, after all - I assumed one of them was a politician Braz recognized and had strong feelings about. The problem was, I couldn't tell from his face whether it was someone he admired or loathed. They were being seated at the table next to ours.
Matt, whose back was to them, finally said, "What?"
Quietly, so they wouldn't hear them, Braz hissed, "Buzz Aldrin!"
My brain plays these little tricks on me. My immediate reaction to the name was to think, You mean the astronaut? And then my brain said, Don't be absurd. You're confusing the name with Buzz Lightyear, the cartoon. Go ahead, say astronaut and see how hard they laugh at you. So I just asked. I'd rather admit to not knowing something than be unsure and guess and be wrong. But I'd been right. Silly brain. Yeah, the same Buzz Aldrin who was the second man to stand on the moon.
Kris and I were duly impressed. Braz and Matt, however, spent the rest of the meal awestruck. They resisted asking for an autograph, and even declined to take a picture with my digital camera which wouldn't even have flashed. After lunch, however, another bystander told them that Dr. Aldrin was in the museum to do a book-signing. Naturally, we went in search of the line.
After standing (and sitting) in line for what seemed like years and nearly an hour after he was supposed to return to signing, the explanation trickled down the line: They were out of the books. And since he was only signing books...
Ah, well. The boys were disappointed, but only a little. They'd gotten to eat lunch less than ten feet from him, after all.
We wandered around the museum a little, and back into the gift shop. Matt and Braz were looking at kites when I went looking for Kris, who'd gotten bored and left the shop. Lucky for us she had! They'd brought some books, and Buzz was back in business! We hurried over and took a few pictures from afar - my camera has a pretty good zoom - and then we wondered, what were we thinking?! I stood in line while Kris went to get the guys. They were floating on cloud nine for the rest of the afternoon.
We ate dinner at the ESPNZone, which I thought was really funny. There were televisions everywhere, including a touch-screen monitor at every table that let you pick from among something like eight different ESPN feeds and adjust the volume. There were televisions in the bathrooms, even. Definitely the ultimate sports-bar. What? Food? Oh, yeah, I guess the food was okay.
(To be honest, we weren't really all that hungry. It had only been about three hours since lunch, and we would've eaten later if it weren't for the Eric Idle show.)
The show! Eric Idle Best of all, though, was that the show was being filmed! When the show and the "completely spontaneous encore" were done, they asked us to sit down while they turned the lights on and filmed the audience laughing. And then they had to re-do a few sketches and pieces of sketches that they'd flubbed during the show. Of course we weren't going to leave! If Kris hadn't been so terribly tired, we might've stuck around for the entire re-filming!
As it was, we hung around for at least 45 minutes after the actual show was over. It was fantastic!
Matt and I decided on the Metro back to the hotel that we were too tired to drive home and should check back into the hotel. (I probably should have guessed in advance that this would be the case and just booked a room for two nights. Oh, well.) So we stepped up to the desk.
Imagine our surprise when the desk clerk told us that he'd already turned away twenty-five or thirty people that evening because they were full! (I'm sure Braz and Kris would've offered the second double bed in their room if they'd had one, but they were in a room with a single king-sized bed, and while our friendships are sufficiently close to bear sharing a room for a night, I don't think we're quite close enough for the four of us to sleep in a single bed, no matter how well suited to an orgy the bed might seem!) (That's a joke. Feel free to laugh at any time.)
Luckily, only seconds before Matt and I had come in and asked for a room, the hotel had had a cancellation, and so they had a room they could give us. It was a smoking room, but beggars can't be choosers. Luckily, it was fairly well ventilated, and only the faintest hint of smoke lingered in the bedspread. Matt and I were too tired to care much, anyway.
Alas, we wanted to work for half a day today, so we checked out immediately after breakfast and headed home. I did witness an amusing exchange during breakfast, though. A woman said to (I assume) her son: "Steve, they have some English muffins over here!" (The breakfast was essentially a buffet of carbohydrates.)
Steve, a boy of about nine, replied, "I don't want one!"
The mother snapped back, "Yes, you do!"
I thought this was hysterical. I don't think my parents ever tried to tell me what I did want to eat. I'd gotten, "No, you don't," in response to "I want [junk food of choice]," but never the reverse!
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