Jack Visits.

Jack just left :'(

He was here for Memorial Day Weekend. For those of you who don't know, he is my little brother. And by little, I mean 18-year-old. So, I could probably leave out the little part... but it reminds my 21-year-old friends that they shouldn't hit on him. Notice I say shouldn't, because they tend to hit on him. :)

Anyway, he came in on the Chinatown Bus which links almost every big city on the East coast including, but not limited to: Orlando, Tampa, Atlanta, Columbia, Charlotte, Richmond, Washington DC, Baltimore, Harrisburg, Philly, and New York. And it's bloody cheap too: $15 roundtrip from Richmond to DC. :)

It's not too sketch. I mean the business does what its supposed to do. The bus may smell a little like pee if you are near the bathroom, but my mom, grandmom, brother, and friends have all ridden it and been pleased. I have to get to NYC this summer for a weekend.

While Jack was here, we checked out the Natural History Museum, walked the Mall, saw the White House, and ate at the local eateries. The best part though was Rolling Thunder. Each year for Memorial Day, thousands of bikers roll into DC to take a trip around the mall... with police escort nonetheless. The bikes are crazy! My faves are the mopeds who just kind of sneak in. :-P Jack's into automobiles, so he was diggin' all the loco bikes and bikers. Like those who ride while smoking cigars. Classy. Or the crazy chicks on the back. Haha.



It's always nice seeing my brosky. He's a dreamer. I love it. I lost my ability to completely abandon reality. He's grown up a lot recently. I'm even more proud of him than usual. *puts her 'Big Sister' t-shirt on*

But, in recent news, (as in the past half hour), I saw my first cat fight. These girls on my street were going at it while I was walking home. The whole neighborhood was out on their front porches just shaking her head. One lady looked at me and said "It's a damn shame. They make us look so bad." Anyway, I was just trying not to crack up. I didn't want my ass beat too. Although, there wasn't a lot of hurting going on... just weave going everywhere.




 Oh, goodness. Well, it's off to another adventurous interning week tomorrow. (4-day week, too!)

Bwah!

I haven't blogged in a long time. Sorry, dear readers. Cause there is SO many of you. I think there are two followers + my parents... so that makes 4. Lovely.

So, let's work backward. Working from the unfamiliar into the familiar. Band director joke.

K. So, today. Tea Party. (the real kind, not the political party kind.) I went with my housemate Sarah, and ripped the pics off her fbook. Everything was lovely. The food-delish. Never have I been somewhere so accommodating of vegans and gluten-free folks. And it all tasted un-vegan and un-gluten free. I wonder about going either one of these options... I'm not as nearly as sick all the tie as I was freshman year, butttt I'm still not healthy. I feel crappy 3 days out of the week, plagued by stomach issues, headaches, and really low energy. I should probably get to a doctor, but they took forever to figure out what was wrong freshman year. And I have a feeling that it wasn't actually gastroparesis. Anyway, that's why I am thinking going vegan. Thoughts?

Yesterday, I met new housemate Sam. So we have a full house this weekend. Everyone is very down-to-earth and chill. We went for a shopping trip to Harris Teeter together. It was cute. I bought tofu.

I also started my first day of work yesterday. Jazz in the Garden is a series that features different jazz groups every Friday at the National Gallery of Art Sculpture Building.  I, somehow, the 20-year old, ended up selling the alcoholic beverages. This means big tips. It's amazing what a bat of the eyelash or big smile or the look can do for the tip jar. $20 from one dude who decided that I was Kiddo. I was also Baby, Sweetheart, or Darlin'. There was no, Here's lookin' at you, kid. Unfortunately. Ultimate fantasy.

8pm hit, and BOOM. CRACKLE. DRIP. Can you say rain? hahaha. All these people. I mean it was packed. The other workers said it had never been so busy. There was a line curling around the cafe all night long. So, when the rain came, people booked it, or ran for cover, or cried. All my Indiana friends know, rain is just rain. I love it, actually. Drenched in my yellow, starchy collared shirt. So, we got out three hours early. Could have been worse.

Monday through Thursday at work was rather uninteresting. Slow. I have been told that next week will pick up with the new intern coming in. More to come!

Well thank goodness it wasn't a ticket!

I received my first piece of mail yesterday! It came in a ziploc bag, attached to my windshield.

I must preface this tale, with an explanation of the parking situation in DC.

I am parking on an unzoned street, so I don't need a permit. I parked last Monday, and haven't moved since.

So, when I saw a note on my windshield, I automatically thought "Ticket". But, much to my surprise (and joy that I didn't have to pay a fine) it only said: "Thanks for hitting my car, Asshole! & If that's you in the pictures in your back window... you're ugly as well. -XOXO"

So, in response, dear writer: There was one car behind me when I parked last Monday. I parked, and there was no contact between that car and mine. I still had two feet in between the two cars. I apologize that your car got hit, but I assure you it was not me. -With Love, Raj

Enjoy the photos, y'all. I can't believe he even put it in a ziploc. A nice ziploc too. Not one of those cheapo knock-off brands.

Asian Persuasion. Polynesian Attitude.

Yesterday.

I went to a Documentary viewing at the National Museum of the American Indian. w00t. Great museum. You should go. Now. At the start of their Hawai'i Festival, they did this Dinner & a Movie event. It was lovely. I met this native Hawaiian, Táke, and we saw the story of Mau, a Wayfinder. These types of navigators use the stars, wind, and subtle nuances of the ocean to find their way to their destination.

Today.

I went back to the NMAI and saw some ukulele playing, hula dancing, and modern Hawaiian dance. It was rad. I thought of Sarah Hann the entire time.

Then, I went to the Asian Festival happening this weekend. Fried Plantains. Yum. And Music. Lots of music. And an old white dude trying to learn asian dancing. Cute! And some famous Japanese chef teaching me about the importance of fish sauce. LOL. I never knew.


Megan Hall Alert. I am joining the Ukulele Club in DC. :D

Love games.

The single life in DC is less than desirable. Probs because I am the only frickin' single person I know.

Ok. Total Exaggeration.

BUT. It really is a swirl of love everywhere around me. For example.

1. I am the only one I have seen sit on the National Mall and eat lunch without that special someone.

2. Business couples meet up on lunch break and peruse museums sometimes. I've seen this.

3. The Metro is infested. There was this one lady today who just leaned all over her boyfriend instead of using a rail or pole like a smart person. She was falling all over the place. Idiot.

4. It's impossible to buy food anywhere by yourself. Even at food trucks. Friggin' food trucks. People automatically assume you are waiting for your bf/gf.

5. This is not a putmyarmaroundyou city. This is a I-wanna-hold-your-hand city. (BTW the Beatles played their first show in North America in a warehouse around the corner from my house. No lie. Be jealous). It's like this hand-holding thing will never be broken. Everyone is attached to everyone by a hand. So I carry a lunchbox in one hand and a water bottle in the other.

OK. So with all this magical, mystical, lovely air, it's easy to get bitter and pissed off. And roll my eyes.

But then I think of every couple as Tim Screw and Kerry O, and it melts into a smile.

Because, really. I'm in DC for the summer. Who really gives a rat's behind about my relationship status.

 

Surfin' USA.

So there this thing, called Couch Surfing. It's pretty rad. You go to a new place, have no money. So you stay with someone who lives there. You crash on their couch. Sounds shady, right? Not so much. There is this whole review and rate system, so you know if people are legit or not.

Anywho, my housemate has hosted people. She is a part of this huge Couchsurfing community in DC. It's a big deal here. They have a couple weekly get togethers, and as you can probs imagine, the summer is a busy time for the community. Tons of people from all over roll in and out of DC as they are traveling around.

I went to one of these get togethers with said housemate, little did I know it was at a gay bar, on a gay pride night. Eff yes! These men were fabulous. I mean like really  fabulous. You have not seen a good dancer 'til you've seen a gay dude at a gay pride event.

The Couchsurfers were cool too, but oddly enough, they are a kind-of older crowd. I can dig it, but it would be good to meet some other under-21ers too.

There is stuff for us here, but the last thing the 21-year-olds want to do is not drink. For the most part at least.

On a night like this I could have used some Bean, Cam, & Shreve. <333

Killer Style.

The ladies here have killer style. I mean, it's the best kind though. Diversity.

There are the undergrounds, raw style chicks. No labels. No ironing. No clear cut lines. Lovely floral patterns, all indie and hipster like. Straight out of a vintage store.

Then there are the professionals. Black pencil skirts. White 3/4 sleeves, collared shirts straight for from the dry cleaners. Petite heels, just enough. With the hair swept back in a just-right bun.

Then there are the urbans. The tight jeans, big glossy sunglasses. Neon, everywhere. Trendy sneakers a la Simmons sisters.

I can pull off looking pretty trendy and tiger-like for Indiana PA, but damn I could learn a few things from these females. They make it look so easy. I walk out the house thinking, 'alright, i think i'm doing okay today.' As soon as I get on the Metro I feel like a frumpy mess.

This is when I need Megan Hall.

Adventurous.

Yesterday.

I went to a cute little Vegetarian place called Maoz... check it out here
It serves falafel. Which are delicious. I daresay it was better than the falafel we had in the sketchy place next door to Wombats in Vienna. Maybe.

My work buddy Sujana and I hopped back to the Metro station, and this dude approaches us. Tiny little Hispanic dude. He starts speaking, well trying to speak, really. He is confused, and needs to get to Ballston. Then, he looks at me... "Hablas Español?" So we start this conversation, and I help him figure some stuff out. Sujana has no idea I speak Spanish, and is wide-eyed, staring at me. Dude keeps talking, gets on the train, keeps talking, gets off the train, keeps talking. Asking me... "Will you teach me Spanish? I will pay. On the weekends?"... "No, sorry. I have to get a job."... "Mentiras! Mentiras!" (Lies, Lies)... We get on different lines in a few stops.

Started out awesome... got creepy towards the end.

Today.

The Food Truck Cult here in DC is a riot. There are so, so many. Anything you could want.

I've had Ethiopian food. It comes with this spongy bread that you are supposed to use as a fork. I've also had a Red Velvet Cupcake from Curbside Cupcakes. Delish!

OK. Goin' out.

Miss you all!

No high heels.

Is it possible to become a 'city girl' in two days? I don't know. But I think it's a feat I have mastered. After two days, I never ever want to leave. Especially to Indiana of all places.

This summer experience is about more than just the internship. It is about the internship, but it's also about the city. For example... 

I am sitting on my front porch, which is two feet from my neighbor's porch.

I just bought dinner at the Eastern Market. Some Latin guy heftily scooped Cucumber, Tomato, & Feta Salad into a to-go container and insisted I take a fork, because he was sure I couldn't wait until I got home.

I've been to Busboys&Poets, a famous café that has some mediocre organic chamomile tea, but a whole lot of ambiance.

I danced in heels on my lunch break with some ex-military flute player dude. He only knew patriotic songs. It was charming.

And I also learn about the people of the city, the residents, and how easily I can now tell them apart from the tourists. And how easily I can tell what type of resident they are: government, academic, and even those scummy interns. 

The government workers pile on the Metro at Union Station. They never smile. Actually, a lot of people on the metro never smile. Or talk. Or make eye contact. It's weird. If you don't have a book, then you are staring at the ground. It's like the Viennese Metro on steroids. 

The academics have a Kindle, and sometimes don't match.

The interns (myself, included) look stressed, and sometimes, just scared shitless. I'd like to think of myself as one of those semi-confident interns, but who knows what my outward expression is.

I can tell you one thing though. I rock the business casual, heels included. *Cue Megan Hall* 

The flip side...

The internship. I am learning oodles and oodles. It's just peachy. I am working on a variety of projects with the Educational Tools on the Website, but also am reading and writing on graduate texts to get a greater understanding of Ethnomusicology. 

The people at the Smithsonian are great. Everyone is friendly. The interns are... interesting. I don't know many, but I definitely can feel the excitement from the super-new ones, like me. I, hopefully, am not this chihuahua-like. I get it- it's exciting, but I think the level of professionalism we are supposed to show comes with containing some of that excitement. 

My music friends constantly cross my mind as I discover new albums, like mbira recordings, the latin jazz anthology, or marimba tracks from Guatemala. Just know I am writing this for you people.

One thing that seems to be apparent in all that I am learning of the Ethnomusicology and Folk 'Greats' is that no matter their specialty, there is a common thread of modesty. Perhaps it is a sign from the Almighty, but I know that I must be modest in this internship. Just cause I got the spot doesn't mean a damn thing. I'm just an intern. The scum of the business-world food chain. Gotta start somewhere.