Horse Races > Polo Matches

This weekend represented the annual flocking of the masses to Charlottesville for the annual event known as Foxfield.  I was so eager to catch up with all of my college friends that I had to remind myself to be less animated.  The weekend is a marathon, not a sprint.  All in all, it was a smashing success filled with blue skies and camaraderie, Take it Away and the Virginian, less Brain and more Garvon.

After the weekend, my friend Christine and I ate dinner with my parents, who were, I believe, more excited to see her than me.  Father Gavron, the soothsayer, gave us insight into our futures.  When he and his buddies get together, they inveterately exchange stories from their more youthful days.  Christine and I made eye contact and exchanged a nostalgic heartfelt glance, as we realize that 82% of our weekend was dedicated to that; “Remember that time when…”

For example, there was that time that Christine and I were at a recruiting dinner for a company for which we were interviewing.  We were discussing how we had a thriving symbiotic relationship.  I didn’t have a bowl so I always borrow hers.  She didn’t have a lighter so she always borrowed mine.  Noticing the looks of horror and dismay on these prospective employers’ faces, we realized that our word choice gave an uncanny allusion.  Immediately we interjected.  She borrows my lighter to ignite the grill.  He borrows my bowl for his cereal.  Needless to say, they deemed me unqualified for employment.

With the weekend under my belt, it’s back to the mundane.  Although for the past few months, I have been trying to develop a get-rich-fast scheme, all attempts futile so far. But I’m pretty sure I stumbled upon the billion dollar deal while in Charlottesville, I just have to work out the logistics.  Essentially, I plan to bottle up the mirth and gaiety of Foxfield and sell it for a pretty penny across the United States.  I mean, who doesn’t like a beautiful day at the races with 30,000 of their closest friends in a bottle?

Golf on Grounds?

Besotted with everything Charlottesville, I was highly anticipating my return from the more than two month drought.  The plan was to attend a banquet Thursday evening and spend the rest of the weekend living the dream.  The black tie affair on Thursday set the bar high.  The event proved to be the perfectly anticipated muddling of pomp and circumstance, debauchery, and licentiousness.

The following afternoon, Valerie, Erin and I traveled to Birdwood for a little golf.  I haven't picked up a club in approximately five years, but was excited about the prospects of playing nine holes.  Thankfully, Valerie and Erin persuaded me to stick to the driving range.  The three of us split a bucket of balls and so began the entertainment.

Erin informed me before she took to the tee, that her goal was usually to drive the ball past the first hill.  Befuddled after scanning the horizon and spotting no hills, Erin clarified the definition of "first hill"; more commonly known as the end of the tee box.  As it turned out, this was a realistic goal for her, clearing the tea box more than 50% of the times she made contact with the ball.

I, on the other hand, had a more confident gait.  I forwent the drivers and started with the iron.  I can't be certain where my first shot went.  I can only assume that it followed a similar trajectory as the mound of earth I sent flying into orbit.

Departing comment: While loitering on the Lawn, a couple abandoned their infant sprawled out on all fours.  The infant crawled over to me, and proceeded to eat fistfuls of grass.  Ten minutes later, when the parents returned to their unattended infant, I informed the mother that her child ate a lot of grass (refraining from informing her that I thought she was off to a bad start at motherhood).  Her response; "Maybe she's a vegetarian." Touche.

Rock the Red

Before I moved to DC, ice hockey would have topped my list of least favorite sports, even ahead of its icy counter-sport, curling.  Maybe it's the fact that I live in a city that has an opprobrious sports program; the Wizards ended their season last in the Eastern Conference, with a 19-63 record, only to be outperformed by the Nationals, who are off to a running start this season with a 1-10 record.

Attending a Capitals game is what I envision it would be like on a magic carpet ride; it's a whole new world but without the genie.  The atmosphere is electrifying and the excitement is clearly palpable.  Flashy lights, amplified acoustics, cheers and jeers from the crowd.  Little compares to the euphoric feeling of a packed Verizon Center with enough energy to light all of India for a month.

I am also constantly in a state of amazement at the ability to balance and pivot on a blade, while controlling a puck, and fending off slams into the glass.  I can't do any of those things independently, let alone coordinated.  My skill level is more aligned with the oft entertaining juniors who grace the ice during intermissions.

Of course, attendance at any public event brings out the throng of patrons whose entertainment rivals that of Ovechkin shooting a knuckle puck.  My favorite compatriot was a man who shouted expletives such as "Oopsy doodles" which I interpreted as #$*%.  Totes my goats.

Takes you wonder by wonder.  If there had been a genie, I would have used one of my wishes to secure a Capitals victory, something they couldn't pull off themselves.  I guess it's time to start turning my hopes to the Redskins...

Lex and Her Magic School Bus

I'll be honest, I had my doubts.  On paper, the Boomerang Bus sounds like a fun jaunt around the Capital and a great way to experience the city's night life.  In practice, I thought it might be a logistical train wreck.  The concept is as follows;

Procedure: Boomerang around town, participate in the revelry, and along the way, make appearances at four DC bars/clubs.

1 Renovated school bus, with an interior decoration scheme certainly unsuitable for school children, equipped with a few stability poles if the Spirit moves you (and once you've had a few spirits yourself, they move you).

2 Fun Captains, responsible for making sure everyone is accounted for before the bus proceeds to the next bar.  Our Captains were Jordan and Joel (pronounced Jo-elle).

40 39 Dignified* patrons and an endless supply of merriment.

Our party consisted of 23.  Holding the majority, and knowing my friends, I thought we would easily dictate the personality of the bus.  We were in for a treat.  It turns out, our Boomerang companions set an aggressive pre-Boomerang pace in celebration of Lex's birthday.  For them, the Boomerang was simply the icing on Lex's proverbial cake.

A little bit about Lex: Lex was a voluptuous character whose braces gave her the unfortunate appearance of a perma-pucker.  She immediately announced her arrival, paraded to the middle of our group, swaying her hips (and consequently, the bus) with each step.  She took full advantage of the stability pole, revealing some dance moves that were not made for TV.  She immediately took the sobriquet Drunkest Girl at the Party, not to be confused with the phonetically similar word, sober, which she was far from. *I imagine Lex is still searching for her dignity.

The evening was surprisingly successful, and not just for Lex.  I incorrectly assumed that punctuality did not mix well with cocktails and beer and that the Fun Captains would have their work cut out for them.  I didn't realize that people would be so excited to boomerang that a line would form at the front of the bar 15 minutes before we were allowed back on the bus.  Maybe riding the school bus subconsciously reverted us to our elementary school days when the class was required to form a line before walking back from gym class.

While running in my friend Tyler's Grassroots Hoyas 5K the following morning, I had some personal time for introspection.  After analyzing the previous night's tomfoolery, I decided to add Fun Captain to my list of ideal jobs.  It's like all the perks of being a Captain without the risk of being captured by pirates.

Memoirs of a Geisha

I have been looking forward to the Cherry Blossom Festival for a few weeks now, particularly excited for the Parade and the Sakura Matsuri, also known as a Japanese Street Festival.  The weather outside my window looked incredible, so I opted out of wearing a jacket.  That was the second mistake. While the weather looked incredible, it felt tempestuous with a chance of tornado. Toto, we’re not in Kansas anymore.

My roommates and I proceeded to Constitution Avenue, which was lined by hordes of Washington DC tourists.  We had to push our way through the crowd to get a glimpse of the parade.  What we didn’t see: The parade website boasted of Broadway performances and character balloons; What we did see: I saw the local street sweeping and cleaning crew, (Some government employee was using his noggin here...”Let’s invite the street sweepers to participate in the parade, and while they are enjoying the spotlight, we’ll get a free street cleaning out of it!”).  I also saw the girl who had the distinction of horse excrement removal.

After admiring the pristine, manure-free parade route, we left and headed to Sakura Matsuri for a taste of the Japanese culture.  For weeks I had been anticipating what was advertised as the nation’s largest Japanese street festival, hoping it would offer sushi to origami, sumo to sake.  That was my first mistake.  I was underwhelmed.  The only cultural element free of charge was a promotional coffee courtesy of McCafe, also known as McDonald’s coffee.  Trying to play McDonald’s off as Japanese.  Smells fishy to me (like American cod fish to be specific …not glazed with teriyaki sauce). I had been anticipating geishas but instead found myself surrounded by elderly women sporting the timeless visor.

A final observations causing consternation:  The Statue of Liberty was presented by France in 1886, representing the friendship that was established during the American Revolution.  Similarly, Japan gave 3,020 Sakura trees to the United States for our then-growing friendship in 1912, hence the Cherry Blossoms festival.  Isn’t it about time countries returned to the practice of gift giving?  Or maybe we have continued the gift giving in the form of a financial crisis. If so, I think I’d like a refund.

Gratis

Perhaps it the incessant din of economic turmoil screaming through the TV, or maybe it’s the fact that I now have my own bills to pay, but I have developed an infatuation with all things free.  Which makes being a consultant the ideal job for me.

Some of my consulting freebies include;

1. Sports Tickets:  I recently received Wizards tickets for the February 27th game against the Chicago Bulls. What the company forgot to tell me was that I would be sitting 20 feet away from President Obama. Cool.  They also forgot to tell me was that I would receive a free physical courtesy of the secret service. Not as cool.

2. Spy Museum Scavenger Hunt: The evite read “We rented out the entire museum so we will have it all to ourselves.”  A genius idea to swindle prospective participants, since the museum was astir with the usual tourists. Our team name, Golf, was assigned to us using the NATO phonetic alphabet. If I had my choice, we would have been the Blue Barracudas. The purpose of the scavenger hunt was to score the most points by first, correctly answering a multitude of intelligence/counterintelligence questions whose answers were contained in the museum, and second, by stealthily placing a sticker on, or “bugging,” an opponent. Cool.  While the results were being tallied, I swiftly moved to the open bar and enjoyed the plated lunch. After some grilled chorizo, house cured salmon, and a few glasses of sauvignon blanc, it was time to announce the results.  We did not win. Not as cool.

3. Young Employees Trivia Night:  Our young employees forum hosted a trivia night at Arlington’s favorite smoky bar, Whitlow’s.  The event was in celebration of St. Patrick and his successful efforts to drive the snakes from Ireland. Cool. (As a side note, St. Patrick has been quickly elevated to my favorite saint.  If I had known about him during my Catholic confirmation, I surely would have selected him as my patron over St. Francis of Assisi)  For round three of trivia, the emcee told us to name the artist and the song title.  Sounds simple.  The catch; instead of playing the original, he sang his own rendition, which sounded similar to car skidding its brakes across the pavement in the middle of a hail storm.  Our team could not identify one artist nor could we identify one song title. Not as cool.

4. Scope it Out 5K: My company paid for my entrance fee, which netted me a free shirt. After the race, they served bagels and bananas.  The person responsible for the buying the food either (a) should return to grade school to learn how to count or (b) was a bit quixotic and thought there might be an overnight throng of day-of-event registrants flocking to support colorectal cancer research.  Noting this prodigality, the volunteers manning the banana and bagel bungalow handed me a clear plastic trash bag and told me to “take some for the road.” Cool. So I heeded their advice.  Bundle of food flung on my back, Chris Cringled with delight, I paraded home.  When what to my roommates’ wondering eyes should appear but bagel chips and eight loafs of banana bread. Eating only two food items all week. Not as cool.

5. Bagel Fridays: A unique social experiment where bagels are placed in the kitchen between 8 and 9 am.  They always told me that networking was the key to success, and nothing more clearly demonstrates this than on bagel Fridays.  The larger your network, the more likely it is that someone will inform you the bagels have arrived, and the more likely it is that you will get the bagel and cream spread of your choice. Cool. The network-less end up with an onion bagel and a garlic herb spread and spend the rest of their Friday trying to expand their network to include someone who has breath mints.  But really, it’s a Catch-22, because who wants to be friends with the person who has bad breath? Not as cool.