Screen on the Green 2009

So last year I only made it out to one of the Screen on the Green movie events on the National Mall, and this year I’m determined to see at least two.

Last night my sister, Mu, myself and Bradley attended the showing of Dog Day Afternoon starring Al Pacino.

My sister arrived early and we laid out a blanket, which was smaller than I’d remembered, and snacked on unhealthy junk food and grapes until the movie started.

As it turns out, we didn’t need to do much to entertain ourselves.

First, a man proposed to his girlfriend. As he and his girlfriend approached the lawn, the man acted like he was scanning the crowd. All of a sudden, a bunch of people in red shirts  stood up and held up cards that spelled out the marriage proposal. I wasn’t sitting at a place where I could see any of the letters other than a question mark on the end.

The crowd around us burst into cheers and the girl threw her hands up to her mouth in surprise. She was grinning and the couple hugged. I saw her nod and say what looked like “yes,” and then he yelled “she said yes.” and the crowd burst into claps and cheers again. It was a wonderfully romantic moment.

Also, there are inevitably a few people who gets a little too drunk at these festivals, although alcoholic beverages are prohibited on the National Mall, and start doing silly things at the front of the area near the big screen.

This man clearly was among that list. Here he is dancing to “American Woman.”  Although you can’t see it very well on the photo, I especially enjoyed how he had a strong wife-beater tan. At first, I was appalled at his dancing around. But then I couldn’t look away, and finally, I had to laugh and enjoy the brazen silliness of the man.

 

Art of Change ball, appeal for tix

I’m in the pit of planning for the inauguration weekend and I just learned that tickets to the “Art of Change” inaugural ball are sold out. But two of my dearest buddies want tickets and I want them to be able to attend. If anyone has an extra ticket (or two) that they are willing to part with for face value please contact me.

p.s. I fully intend to write a legitimate blog later today. My apologies for using this forum to seek tix. Clearly I’m a lady in need.

 

Sunday night at the office

She sits at the computer, fingers pecking at the keys. She is wearing her black velvet formal full-length dress and her stage make-up remains on her skin leaving her face looking like she came from a make-up counter demonstration in a Macy’s store. Her new black leather boots feel soft against her left leg as she sits with legs crossed at the desk.

She knows she has to write a front-page story for her boss before she goes home for the night but still she is high from singing Elijah in the Kennedy Center less than an hour before. It’s 6:45 p.m. But the notes/words “the fire descends from heaven . . . the flames consume the offering. Before Him upon your faces fall, before him upon your faces fall.” (Song describes how flames from heaven descend to devour the offering Elijah had built — devouring the ox, the firewood, the stones and even the water in the ditch that had been poured on the altar — and how Israel realizes that Elijah worships the true God.)

She’s still without a phone, but she’s ok. She’s survived somehow thus far. It’s time to write her work story so her Thanksgiving vacation can begin.

Thanks for your notes and words of encouragement. I’ve made it through the weekend thus far fairly unscathed.

Procrastination must end…. catch you all on the other end of this story.
-E

 

Stranger in the camp

I had a terrifying event occur this weekend when I was camping out in a park with some friends.

We had been asleep in our tents for a handful of hours when I woke to the sound of someone messing around in our campsite. I thought it was one of my friends and so I unzipped the tent a crack to look out. I didn’t see anyone at first until I shined a light into the woods. I saw (with my contacts out) a guy who I wasn’t sure if I recognized. So I reached back in my tent and put on my glasses.

With my sight improved I looked out again and saw he was now standing in front of my tent looking right at me.

He was medium height, blond hair, maybe in his late 20s to early 30s. His shirt was untucked and he had a big red something, maybe a scrape, bruise or cut” about the width of a golf ball on the left side of his forehead.

What frightened me the most was that he was looking at me with a drunken grin. I guessed he was in a drunken black out stage in which he could do anything and not remember it the next morning. That idea frightened me to the core. Yet I spoke with a calm voice as I said…

“Hello. Are you lost?”

He made no reply and kept staring, his body swaying in my direction and then back again.

“Do you know your campsite number?” I asked.

“Yes” he said, still grinning.

“What number is it?”

“This one,” he responded.

He took a couple steps forward then back and, without looking away, he plopped down on the end of the picnic table bench.

I began to fear that perhaps he was going to try attack me. He didn’t know I had guys in my tent.

I called the name of a guy friend (we’ll call him “D”) in the tent next to us and nudged awake a friend in my tent, who we’ll call “youngin.”

“D” climbed sleepily out of his tent and asked the guy the same things. Then “D” suggested that the drunk man might be from the site next to us and he led the man next door, which “D” said was littered with empty beer bottles and cans.

I was terrified.

I was still frightened out of my mind and didn’t want to leave the tent but I had to pee.  I almost insisted that ”youngin” escort me into the woods but he was still half asleep so I gathered my courage and took the biggest flashlight we had and ventured out.

The sound of the owl that had serenaded me when I first went to bed now terrified me as I ventured down the hill. Every sound of crunching leaves made me want to bolt. I RAN back to the tent when I was done.

I could hear the stranger moving around in the site next door and it took me at least an hour to get back to sleep.

I told my sister about the event when I returned from camping and she understood my fears.

My friends had acted wonderfully to take care of the situation and had not made fun or belittled my reaction at all.

Yet I don’t think they understood how terrifying that kind of experience is to a girl. I think we, as women, have more reason to be worried about being attacked and raped in alleys, jogging trails, woods, etc.

After everything was over, all I wanted was for any one of my guy friends to put their arms around me to make me feel safe until I went to sleep. But I didn’t feel right asking for it. I was afraid such a request would be misconstrued for something else. Instead I inched my sleeping bag and mat up next to “youngin” who was already curled up in his cocoon of a sleeping bag and I tried to sleep.

The next day as we were packing up to leave, the guy from the night before drove by and waived at us. I guess he was appreciative that he didn’t spend the night traipsing around the campgrounds.

Still, the memory of a stranger in our campground will make me take some more precautionary steps next time we go camping.

 

Roads of Virginia, King-size suite

Some of you may already know that I avoid driving into Virginia.

You see, when I cross the state line in my car, everything seems to turn to Swahili. I get tragically lost nearly every time.

The way the roads are designed and the behavior of the drivers, not to mention the fact that nearly every intersection has a no-U-Turn sign, drives me NUTS.

This frustration has tainted my opinion of Virginia in an odd way. For example, I’m less likely to date a guy who lives in Virginia (anywhere more than a short walk away from a WMATA metro stop) than a guy in DC or Maryland.

And the only cities that I really like are Alexandria, Reston and Falls Church, but that’s because I have friends there.

Well my opinion of Virginia moved up a notch last week when I made an overnight work trip to Richmond, Virginia, for a federal appeals court case involving transmission siting rights federal vs. states’.

Like a smart girl I avoided traffic and got into my hotel about 9:30 p.m., just in time to have dinner with a friend.

What I found in Richmond was a funky little town with some restaurants with very creative chefs. For example, I had watermelon tequila soup served in a Champaign flute. It was surprisingly refreshing. And you couldn’t even taste the tequila.

While at dinner with Jason, a couple of his friends joined us. Like me, Jason has a deliciously eclectic group of friends. One of Jason’s friends — a self proclaimed garbage collector (who is actually an amazingly intelligent antique collector/restorer, art dealer) — told me that there is a hex on the city of Richmond. The curse is that anyone who visits Richmond can’t leave (or has to keep returning) until he or she has faced himself or herself. It was a very intriguing idea. And in truth, I feel a great pull to return to the city.

“Have you faced yourself?” I asked my friend. From his long round about reply I surmised that he believed he had. I don’t know if I can give the same answer.

 I also really enjoyed my stay at the local hotel, located one block from the Federal Appeals court and directly across from the state capital building.

There was a lovely surprise awaiting me at the hotel. It seems they had filled all the double twin bed-size cheap rooms and so they put me in the king size suite without raising the price. Check it out. p.s. sorry the pics are crappy because I took them on my phone.

 

My king size bed in a seperate room

My living room

My bathroom had a bidet. Unbelievable. I’ve only had those in my bathrooms in European hotels.

 

 On a side note: I apologize for not keeping up with the blog. As I’ve said this is a busy season for me. I’ll do my best to update at least three times a week.