Remember, it may be cheaper to buy online or from a big box store, but you’ll never beat the locals for personal attention and local knowledge.
Local business owners are your neighbors. The same civic quality-of-life issues that matter to you matter to them.
If you don’t support them with your money*, they will fail.
Pardon me while I shed a few tears into my teacup…
*I am not suggesting that you spend your money unwisely. Obviously, if you can’t afford to buy a book at your local bookstore, you shouldn’t do so just to help keep them afloat. But I can live in a world without Amazon a whole lot more comfortably than I can in a world where small businesses are shuttered.
One of the main perks of living in a nation’s capital is that periodically there is an intersection between government, tourism, and residents. The Library of Congress’ National Book Festival down on the Mall is one such co-mingling.
An annual event for the past eight years, the Book Fest is a pet project of Laura Bush. It remains unclear whether the event will continue as the administration changes, but it was obvious from many of the remarks from authors and presenters that there is hope that funding will be found. (more…)
1. While home sick, I put the tv on in the afternoon and listen to reruns. (Reception isn’t so great on the stations that show old tv shows.) Britcoms come on first — As Time Goes By, Are You Being Served, and All Creatures Great and Small. Then I leave PBS and switch to MASH, Hanging with Mr. Cooper, and the Steve Harvey Show. When you’re not feeling great, reruns make good medicine.
2. Walking home from jazz Friday night, John suggests we stop for a warm drink at a new chocolate place that’s between our place and his new condo. I have hot chocolate made with whole milk and dark chocolate. (The only unbeautiful thing about this scenario is that I opt for a medium instead of a large.)
3. The Saturday night movie is Casablanca. It’s one of those perfect movies — great director, great writers, perfect staging, and amazing chemistry between not just the romantic leads, but also between the primary and secondary characters. I highly recommend combining a viewing with pizza and your best guy or gal.
Since I was sick Monday and yesterday, I missed both Monday Morning Music and the autumnal equinox (a word to be admired for having both an “x” and a “q” in it). So we’ll celebrate today. You don’t mind doing it again, do you? I’ll give you two songs just so you don’t feel slighted.
The first is Cheryl Wheeler’s “When Fall Comes to New England”:
And while I disagree that Virginia is the best of 13 sisters, you can’t beat Eddie from Ohio’s “Old Dominion” for its heartfelt pep (this may be the only video clip of this song on the internet, otherwise I never would have picked it, as the quality is questionable):
(If you’d like to hear a better version of the song, EFO has given the Internet Archive permission to house archives of their live shows. “Old Dominion” kicks off this concert.)
I’m heading to bed after spending the evening on the couch alternating between dozing with a fever and sniffling with a sore throat. There’s a bug going around the office and it seems to have settled with me today. Bad bug! Weekends aren’t for being sick! Hopefully I’ll feel better in the morning!
But, in the interest of blog fodder, I offer you a link to this sweater, now on its recipient.
I can’t be at the game every night for the rest of the season cheering you to victory. I know it helped on Thursday, but it’s expensive to travel to Atlanta, Chicago, and New York.
So, please get your acts together.
I offer in my absence some helpful advice:
Fielders, watch the ball into your glove. Use two hands. It’s not necessary to fall over to catch a ball, nor is it necessary to jump, nor to dive, nor to catch it behind your head. Yes, occasionally these actions are called for, but they have far more impressive power when used infrequently and are pulled out of the bag of tricks only in rare instances. Don’t get flustered if it takes you longer than you want to pick up the ball. We’d rather keep the runner from advancing than to throw away the ball and give them extra bases wrapped up in pretty paper.
Pitchers, take a deep breath and just throw the ball. Don’t overthink it. Don’t try to finesse it or place it. Trust that the players surrounding you are going to do their job and don’t be afraid to actually throw over the plate (although if you could limit what’s thrown in the sweet spot, we wouldn’t object). Do NOT and I repeat do NOT intentionally walk people; I don’t care who’s up to bat next, it will just end in disappointment.
Batters, don’t swing at things near your chin or at your toes. Keep your eyes on the ball. If you think it’s a ball, you should be watching it into the catcher’s mitt. Keep the weight on your back foot, and try not to get these ridiculously wide stances — they just limit your ability to pivot and put power behind your bat. Don’t bunt it back to the pitcher. Know when a walk is as good as a hit. You don’t need to hit it out of the park; a line drive up the middle on the ground is really where it’s at. Also, don’t forget, as one MLB player did in a YouTube video I recently saw, that the strike zone extends from your knees to the letters on your jersey. I don’t want to see anyone grumbling because an umpire opted to enforce the upper portion of the strike zone. RUN IT OUT.
Runners, listen to your base coaches. Watch where the ball is going. Don’t slide into first. And if you get picked off first base, don’t come crying to me for sympathy.
Everyone, keep your heads in the game. Cheer on your fellow players. Offer an encouraging word to someone who’s down and accept those that your teammates give to you. Stretch before the game. Ice afterwards. Apply tape and heat wraps liberally and feel free to get a massage if you think it will help.
Know that I’m here for you. If I could afford it, I’d be there for you. If it would help, I’d be happy to come sit on the bench and remind you of these helpful hints in person.
D.C. offers many things, but apple trees are not, to my knowledge amongst them. (Okay, the National Arboretum or the Botanical Gardens may have a tree or two, but I bet they wouldn’t like it if I started harvesting them…)
So on Labor Day, Rudi, Sarah, and I hopped in the car for a road trip. We headed north along the Potomac to Poolesville, a farm community and the bucolic location of Homestead Farm. (more…)
It’s Thursday again. How does that happen? Wasn’t it just Sunday? I remember Sunday. Regardless, the computer informs me quite emphatically that it is Thursday, and who am I to argue? Therefore it’s time to share three beautiful things from the last week:
1. After jazz in the Sculpture Garden (a barely rainy night made for a practically deserted concert), we move a few blocks over for some pizza. I sit at a table, surrounded by my favorite D.C. folks, and listen as the conversation swirls around me, thinking how lucky I am to have found so many smart friends. There are nine of us, so mostly the discussions happen between three or four at a time, but the entire table comes together about an article comparing the Democrats of the Obama era and those of Jefferson’s day.
2. We ride home after the Mets game, cutting across to the Mall at Fourth and continuing its length for nearly 20 blocks. The Capitol is at my back as we wrestle with the freshly laid pea stone. We pass a silent row of Smithsonians and glimpse airplanes. We pedal past the Washington Monument, blaring with overly bright spotlights. The WWII Memorial burbles on, its fountain behind granite pillars. The Reflecting Pond sits peaceful, reflecting only the dark night sky. We leave the Mall behind just before the hauntingly beautiful Lincoln Memorial and head north toward home.
3. A nearly full moon rises as we sit at Starbucks enjoying the first cool air of the day.
Olsson’s Books and Records has shuttered their last four locations.
