This is totally going to become a cat blog

Sherlock says,



WAZZAAAAAAAAAAP!

It's only 2001 in kitty years.

Let it be told to the future world that in the depth of winter

So, my motto lately has been, "Sometimes I just don't understand my life." I mean it in a good way--in the best way. I don't understand how I got to be in Washington for this moment in history, but it is (so far) full of surprises and sightings and moments where I just have to laugh at being in the right place at the right time, and that is exactly what I wanted--exactly what I needed?--from this move. I don't even know this city yet, but I am completely excited to be here.

Today was, simultaneously, utterly chaotic and remarkably smooth. My friend Grace and her friend Guy have been crashing in my living room this weekend, and we were up and stepping all over each other for the bathroom before the dawnzerly light (Ramona Quimby? Anybody?) even showed its face. We left the house at 7:00 and hopped on the bus (this after extensive Plan-B/Plan-C/Plan-D-ing, in case my peaceful corner bus stop suddenly turned crazy) and zipped down to Foggy Bottom, where Guy headed for the Metro--he had a standing ticket to the ceremony--and Grace and I followed the throngs towards the Mall. (Incidentally, I kept thinking of that scene in Groundhog Day, where Bill Murray asks some nameless redheaded woman where everybody's going, and she says, like he's a total moron, "To Gobbler's Knob!") There was plenty of space, and we grabbed seated spots on a piece of the WWII Memorial, and waited.

Just so you know: If it is 25 degrees outside and you think that your body heat will eventually warm up a granite wall--after all, it's only your butt-print that needs warming--YOU ARE WRONG. We sat on the wall for nearly five hours, unwilling to give up our spot, and I am not sure I have ever been so cold in my life, hand-warmer packets (in mittens and shoes) or no. Foot pain gave way to numbness, which gave way to the pain again, and I half-expected my toes to have snapped off by the time I took off my socks. But: sitting up high was cool, and ideal for photographing the ridiculous hugeness of the crowd, and we could see the Jumbotron just fine. It was worth every second, even though I was sure my underwear was freezing solid.

It was just as well that we'd missed the We Are One concert on Sunday (though it was a source of some distress at the time); they televised it on the Jumbotrons all morning to keep the earlybirds entertained. And then the San Francisco Boys' and Girls' Choruses sang, and Aretha performed looking fierce in that hat with the bow as big as her face, and Yo-Yo Ma and Itzhak Perlman and some other people I didn't know performed the special John Williams piece (called, in my head, "What Spring Sounds Like, or People's Hearts Are Beginning to Thaw"), and it was so fabulous that I was totally okay with my blood freezing in my veins. And I continue to want to be BFFs with Michelle, Malia, and Sasha (Michelle = hardcore for her lack of bundling; Malia = Princess Composure; Sasha = hilarious and adorable just for showing up). And then our new President took his oath of office, and I cried a little, and he gave a really wonderful speech. Did you hear the fire in him? It was all on huge screens, of course, but there was this spot towards the middle, right around "all are equal, all are free, and all deserve a chance to pursue their full measure of happiness," where I thought, "preach it, brother."

After, Grace and I had planned to meet up with Guy and his friends, but meeting up with anybody was clearly out of the question--we couldn't walk (five hours straddling the wall, remember), and neither of us could stop shivering (scary!), and the tide of the crowd just bore us along. (What is it Barbara Kingsolver says about the stream of ants in The Poisonwood Bible? Stick out your elbows and raise up your feet? Not a bad philosophy in this situation; you could probably get halfway to Maryland that way.) We went back the way we'd come, stopping in at the Ritz-Carlton to thaw out and use the bathroom and check our phones, and ended up walking all the way home because we couldn't get a cab or a bus. So maybe there was a bit of a Bataan Death March vibe to the end of the day, but it was worth it. I'm so glad I went. I am so, so proud of President Barack Obama, and so, so thrilled for our nation, and now I can't wait to see what he actually does.

Welcome, Mr. President.

I was there.

...and one more thing:

Why I don't believe in coincidences

Since I moved to DC, I've been looking for a church. I'm spoiled in this area: I've known three churches in 28 years, each unique, but each full of people struggling together, with grace and extreme humanity, to live out the Gospel as they know it. I'm grateful that it's never been that hard, finding the right place to worship.

For awhile, I thought maybe I'd found my place here in DC--National Presbyterian, where the choir is spectacular and the teaching pastor comes from my church in California and I ran into Condi Rice (which I think I forgot to mention)--but it wasn't right. I'm back on the market, so to speak.

This past Sunday, because I had an appointment in Alexandria around midday, I decided to try church in Virginia. The last time I tried this, at a church in Arlington, I got hopelessly lost, missed the service, and decided to go to the mall instead (God knew I needed work pants; He didn't seem to mind). This time, I gave myself plenty of time, printed out detailed directions...and proceeded to get EVEN MORE LOST than the last time. Seriously. It was a nice drive--trees, river, a really interesting program about Sesame Street playing on NPR--but it wasn't church, and I was lost and frustrated and teary anyway over the death of Mr. Hooper. The service had started at 10:30. At 11:05, I arrived (at last) in Alexandria, gave up on actually going to service, and decided to kill a few hours on King Street before my appointment. I was stopped at a red light. Guess what else was at that light? Fairlington Presbyterian Church. Service at 11:00.

Yeah.

I went. It may be my church for the future; it may also be my church just for this week. Either way, I had to laugh, and shake my head, and be grateful.

12 of 12: January

Welcome to 12 of 12 (144 of 12 x 12?) 2009! For the method behind the madness, and other people's entries, check out Chad Darnell's blog. Otherwise, here we go.



6:50 - January Monday, pre-dawn. This is my "over the moon" face.




7:03 - I feel that some savvy marketing person could base an ad campaign on oatmeal as the poster food for people who a) don't go through milk fast enough, and therefore have fridge-door cheese factories, or b) can't be bothered to buy fresh things in the first place. "Oatmeal: For the Single Person in You!" or possibly "Oatmeal: Don't Be Such a Slob."




7:48 - I was running late, but so was the N4. Relief all around.




7:58 - This is the Colombian embassy at Dupont Circle, which somehow always makes me feel like I'm at Disneyland. Sorry, Colombia. Your embassy is just too cute.




9:20 - My two main reference books for today. Did I forget to tell you that I moved 3,000 miles to analyze the use of the American vernacular phrase "dreadful sorry" in the folk ditty "Clementine"? Soon--when the funding comes in--I will move on to the nature of redundancy in "She'll Be Comin' Round the Mountain When She Comes."




9:22 - Who had residual jalapeno oil on her fingers when she tried to put in her contacts this morning? You get three guesses.




11:40 - Brainstorming (male) kitty names. Suggestions welcome.




1:07 - An unsuccessful attempt at a discreet self-portrait taken in the mirrored ceiling of the elevator at work. A total stranger now knows thinks I am a crazy elevator self-portrait-taker.




4:45 - Leaving a tiny bit early to make a 5:15 movie. Note how it is not pitch-black outside. This gives me hope.




7:30 - Sarah and me on our shared quest to see all of the major award-winners/nominees/hopefuls during their season of actual relevance. Subpoint: More bhangra dancing! I need more moments of Bollywood-inspired musical-kinesthetic unity in my life.




8:28 - I am going to skip "too lazy to cook" and go straight to "look at all that whole-grain/high-calcium goodness," and hope nobody notices.




8:35 - I am exhausted from all that...sitting? This is sad. Perhaps cheese and crackers and Stephen Colbert will cheer me up.

Happy January, folks. Stay warm.

Totally worth the trip

YOU GUYS I JUST SAW BARACK OBAMA.

BARACK OBAMA!

He came out of the building across the street, waved right, waved left, climbed up on the step on his Suburban and waved some more, and got in the car. But IT WAS SO FABULOUS. I almost cried. Also, if you want to see some hardcore government fangirl squee, this is the way to go about it--the shrieking in my office was impressive.

At this rate, we will be BFF by 2009, no? Call me, Barack!

True story: there is zero percent work being done in this building right now.

Things you don't want to know but I want to tell you

1. I left my flowered (but thankfully cheap) umbrella on the Metro this morning. Now I have another one (hot pink; also cheap, because of the Metro-leaving-on), but I miss the old one. I really liked it.

2. My toenails are not great.

3. I understand that mushrooms are a fungus that tastes a little like dirt/feet/dirty feet. I like my dirty-feet fungi with garlic and parmesan on a Tuesday night.

A heartbreaking work of staggering genius

I just finished a second read-through of my favorite book from 2008, Haven Kimmel's The Solace of Leaving Early. (Side note: Who has parents awesome enough to come up with the name "Haven"? Especially in 1965 in Indiana?) Actually, it was just the second half--I had finished The Flame Trees of Thika and needed a palate-cleanser before Cryptonomicon, and remembered that I'd wandered through the first half a few months back and gotten distracted. I picked it up again. This is the joy of comfort reading: come and go as you please.

I liked Leaving Early the first time around; I loved Langston Braverman (Ph.D. drop-out, impossible, lover of orphaned girls and her dog Germane, as in "germane to the conversation") and Amos Townsend (minister, doubter, constantly getting tangled in tree branches). But I don't think I saw it and I know I didn't get it. I'm not sure I have a proper grasp now, either, but it's starting to take shape, the mass of mothers and children and loss and gain and belief and backwardness, plus the Virgin Mary (Kimmel went to seminary; she's allowed). I almost want to pick it up again now, as it's fresh in my mind, and try to figure out exactly how it's made, how we get from A to B and end with a scene so unexpected and romantic I almost had to put it down this time around. I wonder if I could get it if I just read it one more time? If I could see the strings twisting together?

In the mean time, I continue to not read Cryptonomicon and have started The History of Love, of which I do not know what to make.

It all began on New Year's Day

New Year's is, as far as I can tell, a Disappointment Holiday, the kind of thing where there's an immense amount of pressure to have the best night of your life (every year, which seems like faulty math to me) and a very few ways to actually have the best night of your life. So you've got to go all-or-nothing: aim very very high or very very low. There's the When Harry Met Sally Manhattan fancy party option, and there's the games-PJs-Dick-Clark option; anything in between seems like a lot of stress for, arguably, not a life-changing amount of fun.

This year, because I have clearly wandered into somebody else's life, I went with Door #1: I met Christine in Manhattan and went to a friend's friend's party. I dressed up like a grown-up, like so:



and ate sweet little hors d'oeuvres-y bits and made conversation with strangers (though we also watched Dick Clark, and Ryan Seacrest waiting for Dick Clark to keel over onscreen, which was sad). It was an aim-high New Year's, and I had a good time, and now I will always be able to say, "Remember the year we got dressed up and went to New York for New Year's Eve?"

I'm not gonna lie: I was ready to shove 2008 out the door. It was a strange year for me, a year of deepening roots and, in many ways, of refined focus, but also a year of discontent. I spent a lot of time and effort trying to rock my life forward, and trying not to lose my mind in the mean time. It worked in the end--in fact, I can barely see this year through the screen of the last few frantic months--but it was desperate and frustrating and generally not my favorite thing.

And so it was nice to wake up on January 1 and see this view from Brooke and Brian's apartment:



At this time last year, I could not have predicted being here--in New York, in Washington, disoriented but enjoying the swirl of everything. I love that I couldn't see the future, and that it's brought me somewhere unexpected--I hoped and prayed and cried out for a surprise, for some kind of rescue, for something to swoop in and pick me up and carry me away, and it happened. I love that I still can't see the future, that I'll never see it, that it'll keep receding like the horizon. I love that don't know where I'll be or what I'll be doing when we hit 2010 (2010!), but I am excited to feel my way through and find out.

Happy New Year, friends.

Strange Fruit, indeed

Instant tears of hilarity, every time.



You can hear the whole essay, along with pieces by Anne Lamott and Sarah Vowell, here.

Stay inside 'til somebody finds us, do whatever the TV tells us

I recently bought a new album, Boxer, by The National. I thought about it for a long time--I acquired their song "Fake Empire" awhile back, and then Chuck used it once this season (along with Bon Iver's "Skinny Love," which is another story altogether, and a perfect confluence of totally different but totally complementary songs), and I found myself listening to it all the time. I decided a mental monopoly was worth $9.99, and bought the album.

First of all, I think I've figured out why I love "Fake Empire" so much. It starts out with this line: "stay out super-late tonight, picking apples, making pies." And, you see, it is exactly the kind of music I would like to listen to as I stay up super-late, picking apples*, making pies. Family and friends will tell you that I am not a late-night anything, and that is mostly true, except: I am a late-night baker. There's something hugely relaxing and hugely satisfying about mixing up some sweets after bedtime (and eating them warm, whatever they are, immediately prior to falling into bed). For this weird ritual, only the best music will do: the most singable, the most groovable, the most a part of me. This album is midnight baking music already. See how cool that is? It's like a little onomatopoeia of life.

Second, I once had a conversation with a friend about the absence of non-tenor pop stars. He was right: the lower registers get the shaft in the pop recording world. Which is why I love The National's frontman's voice: he's a deep, deep baritone, and it's always simultaneously surprising and strangely comforting. I feel like I will listen to this album next time I'm feeling sad, or when I'm trying to sleep in an unfamiliar place. It's a nice feeling, having it even when I'm happy at home, just in case.

You can watch The National on Youtube ("Fake Empire," "Apartment Story," etc.), but I almost think it's better if you can't see them. Turn the videos on, then turn around or something. Then stay up and make a pie, just because.

*Why one would stay up super-late picking apples is unclear--wouldn't they be hard to see?--but I'm going to just go with it.

12 of 12: December

Merry and happy 12 of 12, everybody! This project is the brainchild of Chad Darnell; I just participate, along with lots of other people. Let's ring out the old year with 12 final photos, shall we?


6:50 - Conscious, even though it is dark outside, which seems like an obvious clue that being awake is unnatural. Who's with me?




7:43 - N4 bus to Farragut Square. Friday is a good day to try out new public transit routes (the "where does this bus go?" game): less traffic and less chance of being catastrophically late. I try to take advantage of this.




10:25 - Hopping back on the Metro to run a work-related errand.




10:45 - Foggy Bottom is a funny name, and always makes me think of woot canals. Aaron Sorkin ruined me for this city before I even got here.




10:51 - This is the thing about suddenly living in our nation's capitol: you're walking along, minding your own business, and suddenly, Washington Monument! Right there! And this is the thing about being new: you still notice.




11:32 - I am a now badge-carrying employee of the U.S. government. You can only know how exciting this is if you've ever been escorted everywhere for three weeks of your life.




11:48 - Celebratory pumpkin bread on a celebratory trip to Starbuck's, because I can.




2:44 - This is "Liz takes pictures of her thumbs" month, apparently. I don't care if you're doing work in the middle of a long, dreary Friday. Just put on "Christmas Time is Here" and TRY not to feel a little festive. You can throw your head back and sing with your half-circle mouth, if it helps. (Oh, Vince Guaraldi and Charles Schulz. I heart you guys.)



5:35 - Math problem: I know one person, other than my coworkers, in DC. What are the odds that we end up in the same Metro car at rush hour on a Friday evening? And yet: here is Sarah on the freakishly tall Dupont Circle escalator, wishing she knew how to follow her own directions. She is less blurry in real life.


7:22 - You know, I think that if I had the head-size-to-body-size ratio that Giada DeLaurentiis does, I would go for smaller hair. I'm afraid she's going to tip over, you know?




7:53 - I was going to have pasta with tomato sauce and all of its lycopene-induced benefits. But they were CALLING to me, I swear: "Cheese and garlic! Cheese and garlic!" So, yay, white food?




9:59 - My evening in a nutshell: top-secret (oops!) Christmas knitting, my favorite monkey slippers, and Bridget Jones's Diary, which will never leave me or forsake me. (Hey, I'm exhausted and in a new city, and anyway, nobody gets handknits if I'm out being normal and sociable with all of my nonexistent acquaintances. Friends in 2009, I say!)



Happy 2008, everybody. Thanks for letting me share it with you, and I'll see you in the brand new year.

Just another Monday night

Yep, definitely Monday night. I checked. Just finished Monday. Tomorrow's Tuesday. Sounds about right. And yet, so many moments of happy, all in one night! Only the bullet points can contain my joy:

- Home, clothes changed, and to Whole Foods and back by 6:45

- Whole Paycheck carries both (1) bratwurst AND (2) kale, unlike Giant AND Safeway some grocery stores I could name. (Jimmy Dean's does not a sausage section make, my friends.) And they have a parking garage, and even a left-turn arrow to get you across the scary Wisconsin Ave. rush-hour traffic. It's a wonderland!

- Sweet housewarming present from dear friend Stacy waiting in my mailbox. A much-loved book from a kindred spirit is heartwarming, indeed.

- Downright swoony Bratwurst with Creamy Apple Compote. If I die an early death, people, you will know it was the German food.

- Knowing the answer to Final Jeopardy, for once.

- Chuck. How is one to contain oneself with Bruce Boxleitner, Morgan Fairchild, and Dixon from Alias all appearing in one big three-ring circus of geek? I propose an entire episode dedicated to the Elder Awesome dinner party. Here, I'll say it: the Awesome/Bartowski clan eating dinner is plot enough for me. Subpoint: Sarah and her feelings, "whatever they may be," kill me. Sub-subpoint: This show is the best iPhone ad ever. What if someone chains me to the counter of a frozen-yogurt store, huh? What'll I do then? Call for help like a big noisy dork? THAT'S IT. I'M GETTING THE PHONE.

- Having a hotshot techie friend who is not only knowledgeable enough but nice enough to fix your wireless internet over the phone. Thanks, Luke. I would say, "You have no idea what this means to me," but I know you do.

I am warm and happy. Of course, that could also be the wine. Either way, yay.

Message received, self.

Raise your hand if you are at all surprised that, after the last month of my life, I am sick.



Yeah, me neither.

It's my fault. I moved and then drove and then moved again and then started a new job and then had houseguests and then went to the Sondre Lerche show at the 9:30 Club (totally worth it, BTW--I don't care who you are or what kind of music you like, you will like Sondre Lerche), and then my body said OKAY, WE'RE NOT DOING THIS ANYMORE, and so here I am, sniffling and sweating and leaving a trail of Kleenex behind me. It's miserable, but it's not very mysterious.

The good news is that, in a moment of prophetic grocery shopping, I bought a box of frozen, chocolate-dipped bananas the other day. When all other foods seem disgusting, when I simply can't conceive of keeping anything else down, the frozen banana saves all with its cold, tangy goodness. Nice one, self. Keep it up with the therapeutic snack foods.

The other good news is that I'm hopping a flight to New York tonight, heading up to some relatives for Thanksgiving. Of course, this would all be better if I were not in danger of a) passing out in the middle of Dulles International, or b) infecting an entire plane full of people with the plague, but I am excited about seeing this side of the family, about a big Thanksgiving meal (ironic; also, if I'm not eating properly by tomorrow, heads will roll), and about doing whatever it is New York people do as fall turns to winter. It's going to be good times, and I hope your Thanksgivings are also wonderful, no matter what you're doing.

I'm having a banana and going back to bed.

Long haul: Pittsburgh - Silver Spring, MD

PSA: Whatever you have heard about Pittsburgh, PA, forget it (unless you've heard that Pittsburgh is beautiful and amazing; that, you can hang on to). Christine and I have a city crush on Pittsburgh and on Mr. Rogers's Literal Neighborhood and on Luthor Towers the Pittsburgh Plate & Glass building, and potentially on many other things in our new favorite Western-Pennsylvania metropolis.


I repeat: Pittsburgh rules. (This is Station Square, which you can reach by car or by funicular. Funicular!)


The Grand Concourse, train-station-cum-restaurant. So, so beautiful. We ate at the bar.


More of the Grand Concourse. You should see the bathrooms (but the pictures didn't turn out).


Pennsylvania, late fall.

Long haul: Chicago - Pittsburgh

The view of Lake Michigan from Michigan. Or, maybe Michigan City, Indiana? Either way, it's big. And cold. And windy.



I got to listen to Sufjan Stevens's album Greetings from Michigan on the sweetest little Michigan freeway ever. Look how cute!



Oh, Ohio. You're adorable.



Who wouldn't want to live in the Cleve?



It is sad to me that Christine and her lovely friend Jewel are standing in front of the enormous jugs of wine that are fermenting in Jewel's basement in Cleveland, because it is a lot of wine. But she made us Ina Garten's beef stew and fixed my knitting woes, so all is forgiven.

12 of 12: Long-Haul November Edition

Welcome to 12 of 12: Long Haul/November Edition! For details on 12 of 12 and other people's entries, check out Chad Darnell's blog.

A little context for people just dropping for 12 of 12: This is day five of an eight-day road trip across the U.S., part of my moving from San Francisco to Washington, DC for a new job. The twelfth just happened to fall on day of rest in Chicago, which is way more exciting than twelve pictures of me going to regular work, don't you think?


8:47 - Up and at 'em! Not early, but I've earned a sleep-in day.




9:40 - My battle wound from last night's crab-leg incident. Those guys are spiky.




10:25 - Adorable Mount Prospect.




10:37 - The Metra train. If you know me and my unnatural love for public transit, you know how exciting this was. Double-decker commuter trains where you can buy your ticket on the train. It's like Switzerland!



11:48 - Visiting the Bean, my new favorite piece of public art. Who doesn't love this? It's such an easy crowd-pleaser. That's Christine and me down there in the lower left.




11:50 - Me, kaleidoscoped on the underside of the Bean. Would that make it the seedy underbelly?




12:30 - The fancy seventh-floor food court at Macy's, aka The Artist Formerly Known as Marshall Fields. My poor road-food-saturated self was so happy to see the greens and goat-cheese salad I ate.




2:54 - American Gothic. I once saw this sculpted life-size in butter at the Iowa State Fair, though the real thing is almost as cool. Christine tells me I need to work on my "disapproving" face. Apparently I look like I'm going to spit out something disgusting.




5:20 - Giordano's for Chicago-style pizza, with checkered tablecloths and everything. It was delicious, though it appears that Zachary's is a pretty good imitation. So that's a relief.



6:34 - The bridges in Chicago make me feel like I'm in High Fidelity, even at night.



7:02 - We missed the train back to Mount Prospect and had to console ourselves with cinnamon cream cake. Oops.



8:45 - This should be called Portrait of the Easiest Houseguests Ever. Give us our laptops, and we're low-maintenance.


Good day. Nice to meet you, Chicago. Let's do this again some day?