The Tourist Life

Since moving here and starting this blog, I've made it a goal to really explore this new city of mine. That means I'm perpetually in the "tourist state of mind."

You know when you're on vacation and you cram so much into a day that you're completely exhausted by the end of it. Museums start to run together, your feet are throbbing, and your glass of wine is empty before you even realize you've been drinking it? (Or, maybe that latter one was just me in France.) All tourist adventures don't have to be like that. 

I've tried to do at least one "touristy" activity each weekend, when possible. Sometimes that means just hopping on the Metro and getting off at a new stop to explore. Last Saturday, I had an afternoon free and thought, "Hey, why not go see some art?" The "art" of HGTV's House Hunters was getting a bit tedious. (Yes, you want an open floor plan and granite counter tops - we get it!) Admission to The Corcoran - one of my favorite galleries - is free on Saturdays in the summer. The Corcoran is also the perfect sized gallery because it doesn't take all day to see. In fact, it took me exactly one hour (including time to peruse the gift shop).  Aaaand, since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to take a slight detour and continue my touristy adventure....

Sadly, the term "tourist" has developed quite a bad connotation. Tourists are often viewed as annoying and inconvenient. And - truth be told - they often are. I blame midwestern accents and fanny packs for that - I mean, that's how "tourists" are portrayed in movies, right? I'm sure I'll grow tired and annoyed of the loud and confused visitors crowding the Metro all summer long. So, go ahead and call me a hypocrite. But, I think they've got the right idea. (Except when they block both sides of the escalators. That is not the right idea). 

Happy Dad's Day!

The last time I wrote a poem it was for Mother’s Day

Well, today is for Fathers and I've got something to say.

Now a lot of people say they have the world’s best Dad,

But you people are crazy, you’re totally mad.

Because MY Dad is the best one that ever there is

If Fatherhood is a job, he’s CEO of the biz.

I certainly can’t fit all the reasons on here

But I’ll do what I can - at least til I finish my beer.

You may know my Dad as a writer or director,

But to me he’s a car mechanic, and a computer corrector.

He’s a smoke alarm fixer and a killer of bugs

He’s a teller of cheesy jokes and a giver of hugs.

Reunited

This past weekend, NC Meets DC met NC again. (Did you follow that?)

I was back in NC for my five year Davidson College reunion. And it...was...glorious.  

Last year, Davidson changed it's reunion schedule so that reunions occur over the summer when students aren't on campus. At first I was skeptical. But then I remembered being a student and finding it alarming to partake in Spring Frolic festivities and see people 3 decades my senior at the fraternities. Still, I worried it would take away from the experience of coming back to see "Davidson in action." Once again, Davidson College proved to me that I'm not always right. As I overheard an alumna in the bookstore say to her husband, 'Now we can act like college kids without having actual college kids knock us back in our places. We're young and fun for a weekend." True that, sister. And, also, I apologize if, five years ago, I gave a look that "knocked you back in your place." I didn't know. Apparently I'm an ageist. 

There's the cliche "reunion" idea that everyone should try to go back and be new and improved - ten pounds lighter with a trophy husband on her arm. (That's actually my 10 year goal. Just kidding. Well, sort of). Who didn't see Romy & Michele's High School reunion when they claimed to have invented Post-its? That's what reunions are right?  

I love my classmates because that's not the case at all. Sure, we're only five years out - mere freshmen in the reunion world -  but we could have easily tried to compete with each other. Yet that's not how it was at Davidson and that's not how it is after Davidson. One of the greatest lessons Davidson taught us was humility. (If you don't believe me, look at my grades on the first few papers I turned in.) At reunion, no one was trying to prove anything or "one-up" anyone else. We were all just there to have fun and re-live our time on that fine campus, even if only for 48 hours. No one bragged about their big salary (couldn't if I wanted to) or their travels to Indonesia or their solution for world peace. 

Although, I would like to mention that I have discovered the solution for world peace and it involves watching episodes of the Real Housewives series. But, that's for another post. I don't want to share it too early for people to steal and risk my shot at the Nobel Prize.

It was a laid-back, fun weekend for catching up and reminiscing. And also eating, drinking, and Lake Campusing. If I had to pick a theme for the weekend, it would just be, "We love Davidson." Plain and simple. 

(If there was a secondary theme, it would have to be: "We also drink better beer now. RIP Milwaukee's Best.")

An Open Letter...to my GPS

Dear GPS, 

Where do I begin? I can honestly say, I'd be lost without you. You, with your helpful blue dot and options of routes - you help me navigate to work, to restaurants, to parks - we do everything together! Whether I'm walking, driving, or taking public transit - you know it all. 

In that moment when I emerge from the metro underground, arriving at the top of the too-steep-for-comfort escalator, squinting as the sun shines in my eyes and people bustle about around me, you are there for me. Your blue dot - after a few blocks, mind you - lets me know that I've gone the wrong direction and should turn around. I like to think the delay is for my own good. You have faith that I will figure it out on my own - you give me that opportunity. Like a good friend, you give me more credit than I deserve. However, you quickly realize when I need your help because I don't always catch on that N Street should be after L Street. You don't judge me. You just turn me around. God bless you, GPS. 

We even joke around, like best buddies. Like, when you steer me into a tunnel and then say, "Signal lost. Find signal. Signal lost." Oh, you jokester. YOU are the one who lost the damn signal. I wasn't trying to be in this tunnel!