Do We Dewey? Yes.

Dewey – v. laying in the sand, listening to the ocean waves, enjoying the convivial atmosphere, supping on everything, and encountering an eclectic group of beach goers.

After the past few weeks of weather that appeared to beckon for Noah to start constructing a new ark, and thinking the sun might have entered retirement, I was charmed to see the clouds part.  Some of my friends from high school and I paraded to the beach for a relaxing weekend.

We spent most of the weekend Deweying, overindulging in the food department.  On Saturday alone, we dined at Sharky’s Grill, Thrasher’s Fries, Candy Kitchen, the Purple Parrot Bar and Grill, Rita’s Water Ice, The Starboard, and Grottos Pizza.

In order to offset the caloric intake, we made it a priority to get some exercise.  To start off, we played an intense game of corn hole.  The teams: Brian and Sara versus Peter and Zotter. The outcome: Peter and Zotter won 21 – 16.  The breakdown: Brian scored 15 points, Sara scored 1.

In our next athletic competition, we worked up a sweat playing a round of putt-putt at Shell We Golf.  The discount: My friend Peter got to play for free because it was his birthday.  My friend Julie also got to play for free because the store clerk thought she was permanently handicapped since she was deceptively sporting the forearm crutch as opposed to the traditional underarm crutch. The results: Sara ended up in last place, even behind Julie, who played the entire course while using a flamingo-like stance and putting one-handed. The analysis: I should have chosen Julie to be my teammate at corn hole.

Overshare of the weekend: While enjoying the sun and the sand, a bedraggled and unkempt lady approached and showed us the cool sea shell she found.  Over the course of the next few minutes she proceeded to whinge about the cards she was dealt, while simultaneously pining for companionship.  I'm sorry, you definitely sunk that battleship. Unprovoked, she revealed that she recently went through a sticky divorce, in which she only asked for child support, not part of her husband’s pension.  In addition to the child support, she received disability benefits from her former employment accident.  Which is why she talks languidly, because she is constantly on tranquilizers; not narcotics, because she has had a history of addiction to those in the past.  She was also pro-choice until her first abortion, but the emotion distress swayed her to be pro-life.  The one thing she didn’t share was her name.  Anonymity is probably better anyway.  Next, she impinged on my personal space, and with a dollop of sunscreen in hand, muttering some phrase about her concern for me getting burned, proceeded to run sunscreen all over my chest. No. Oh, wait. Yes.

This is My America: Real Men of Genius

I have traveled around the country, biking and climbing, hitchhiking and hijacking, and have found a consortium of people I believe unambiguously represent the best of the best.  Actually, that’s somewhere between a truth and a lie; all three of these Americans can be found in the DC Metropolitan area.

Left turn man. While driving around the streets of Arlington, I came to a stoplight behind a blackberry colored Honda Fit.  Our light turned green, the Honda Fit edged it’s way into the middle of the intersection to make a left hand turn.  Once he began to turn, he now found himself looking up at the red light for the cars in the lanes perpendicular to our green light.  So he stopped.  I politely honked.  He motioned to the law of the land, the red light.  I swerved around him.  No sir.  You should not have been given a drivers license.

Wendy’s lady.  I rolled through the Wendy’s drive through to order a Spicy Chicken Sandwich and a Medium Fries.  The lady at the window informed me my total would be $5.72.  I noticed that the Chicken Sandwich value meal only costs $4.69, and it also includes a drink.  I then asked the lady if she would throw in a soda and knock a dollar off of my bill.  I’m sorry, we can’t do that. No ma’am.  Then I would like to scrap that order and start over again.

Good Friday man. While strolling the streets of Georgetown on Palm Sunday I passed by a Catholic Church service.  Mass had just ended, and the churchgoers were scattering into the streets with palms in hand.  I observe a son point to the churchgoers and question his father.  The father then informs his son that it’s simply Good Friday. No son, do not fall for that scullduggery. Good Friday always falls on a Friday, never on a Sunday.

Slow N Bouncy

Joining a kickball team sounded like the quintessential thing to do after college.  It’s the embodiment of the social and the collegial with a tinge of young professional.

Premise: Play a casual game of kickball each Tuesday evening on the Mall, between the White House and Washington Monument.  Then proceed to Penn Quarter Sports Tavern for a competitive game of flip cup.

Our Team:  The team was created by three nurses with the intent of it being a team for fellow nurses, brandishing the creative team name DC Nurses.  As it turns out, these three nurses were the only three nurses that wanted to participate, so they crusaded to field an army of kickballers.  That is how I landed myself a spot on this team; I happen to know Jay, who happens to know one of the nurses…or so I think.

Our First Week:  Collectively, our team’s kickball skills were underwhelming, and our team suffered an abysmal defeat.  There is a less than probable chance that we could have salvaged some of our dignity if there was a slaughter rule in effect.  Having checked our kickball skills at the door, I thought that flip cup might be our strong suit.  Wrong, I forgot that DC Nurses don’t sport suits.  We challenged our opponent until they got tired of winning.

Our Second Week:  Perhaps we brought an added intensity to the game in celebration of Cinco de Mayo, but in week two we avenged our loss*.  We ran up the score and cheered boisterously, so much so that the referee christened us relentless.  My friend Katie appropriately replied. “Sir, if you had seen us last week, you would understand” to which he replied “I did, we destroyed you last week.”

*Caveat: Our team was forced to forfeit because of regulations stating that a team is only eligible if there are at least four girls.  Our team had two.  Really? The team named DC Nurses couldn’t field more than two girls?

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.