I know today is Wednesday. Which means tomorrow is Thursday. But I keep thinking that it will be Friday, which means it’s time to look ahead to the weekend, right?

Friday night, we head to RFK Stadium to see the Nationals take on the Mets. The Mets have been sucking it up recently, while the Nats seem to be on a bit of a tear. My Mets may have managed (eventually!) to clinch the NL East (which was one of those three beautiful things I knew I meant to include last Thursday, but couldn’t think of), but they seem to be concluding the regular season in a bit of a slump. My hope is that the Mets are just getting the rest of the season’s losing out of the way now so that we can enter the postseason ready to rock. I’m looking forward to the game.

Saturday is the National Book Festival. Lots of cool authors are going to be attending, from Doris Kearns Goodwin (a favorite!) to Poet Laureate Donald Hall, from Alexander McCall Smith to Kevin Clash (Elmo), and from Julia Glass to Louis Sachar. Each author has some main stage time — to read, to answer questions, to speak at large — as well as some time put aside to sign books. (It should be noted that poets get the raw end of the deal because unlike the rest of the authors, they are only allotted 30 minutes to sign their works.) So I figure I’ll be spending the day down at the Mall. Maybe I’ll lunch at the American Indian Museum. They have an excellent cafeteria.

Sunday is the farmers’ market, of course. But it also brings the annual Crafty Bastards fair to Adams Morgan. This is a festival sponsored by our alternative news weekly, The City Paper, and encourages the artistic amongst us to create … stuff … and sell it. Everyone there is very creative. But it’s a matter of finding the ones that you go, “Wow! That’s amazing. I wish I could make something similar. But lacking time/commitment/talent, let me give this person $20-$200 of my money instead in exchange for it.” There are plenty of crafters that make you think, “Wow! Why on God’s earth would you make that? And who would give you $20 for it? I’m not sure that I’d take it home even if you gave me $20.” The festival is supplemented by local food vendors and local musical acts. It’ll be a fun day and I’m looking forward to hitting up Woolarina‘s booth to buy some yarn for my Yarn Aboard II pal. I just have to get there before Lolly arrives. Since she is once again hosting Socktoberfest, I’m afraid she’s going to buy up everything I want.

Okay, I admit it. D.C. does offer a wealth of activities within a very constrained amount of space. I won’t have to drive to any of these events and that definitely wouldn’t have been true in Connecticut.

I’ll be away through the weekend and since Rudi’s mom doesn’t have a computer or Internet access, postings will be sporadic and dependent on finding public kiosks and spare time.

In the meantime, I leave you with three beautiful things from the last week:

1. The rain broke the heat and the weather has been beautiful. Today dawned sunny, with weather in the 70s.

2. Rudi has class on Wednesdays this fall, so I went to a political meeting alone last night. But because I was there by myself, our friend John offered me a ride home in his two-seater convertible.

3. Sunday night after Rudi went to bed, I picked up one of the library books I’d borrowed Saturday and started reading. At 4 a.m., I forced myself to put the book down and go to bed. Once I woke up (just shy of noon!), I started reading again. A bike ride to the zoo interrupted the reading for a while, but I came home and finished the book off before supper. It’s been a while since I found a book so compelling it required finishing in one fell swoop. (The book, you ask? The Lightning Thief by Rick Riordan. It really did live up to the hype.)

I’m going to blame work deadlines and strep for a slow conclusion to the summer reading. Work kept me tied up late into the evenings and over weekends, and the strep left me feeling listless and uninterested in picking up even the funniest book. But eventually both were conquered and I did squeeze two more books into the season:

I’m a Stranger Here Myself: Notes on Returning to America after Twenty Years Away, by Bill Bryson

From the book jacket: “After living in Britain for two decades, Bill Bryson recently moved back to the United States with his English wife and four children (he had read somewhere that nearly 3 million Americans believed they had been abducted by aliens — as he later put it, ‘it was clear my people needed me’). They were greeted by a new and improved America that boasts microwave pancakes, twenty-four-hour dental-floss hotlines, and the staunch conviction that ice is not a luxury item. Delivering the brilliant comic musings that are a Bryson hallmark, [the book] recounts his sometimes disconcerting reunion with the land of his birth. The result is a book filled with hysterical scenes of one man’s attempt to reacquaint himself with his own country, but it is also an extended if at times bemused love letter to the homeland he has returned to after twenty years away.”

Why this book? I really enjoy Bryson’s books. I bought it because there was a buy-2-get-1-free sale of certain publishers at my local book store. I picked it in August because you can’t help but laugh when you read Bryson, and the month seemed woefully serious from the outset.

My take: The book differs from a number of other Bryson tomes in that it is a series of adapted newspaper columns he wrote for a British newspaper recounting the differences (both good and bad) he encountered between the U.K. and his new-old home in the U.S. The advantage of such a book is obvious for such a disconnected month — no column lasts more than four pages and the topic changes from “chapter” to “chapter.” And it worked. I’d read an article or two at night to wind down before I went to bed or while I waited for the Metro in the evening. On the other hand, because it’s a series of articles, there are some repetitions that wouldn’t be as noticeable if the series were read weekly over three years that become more so when read nightly.

While it wasn’t my favorite Bryson book, it’s not because it isn’t good or funny; it’s just different. I’d recommend it to anyone who thinks they’d like to try a taste of his style without having to commit to a whole book about one subject — Europe, the Appalachian Trail, science — or someone who doesn’t have a lot of time to read anything all at once and has to fit their reading into bits and bats of time sprinkled throughout the day, week, or month. You’ll find you won’t think about things like health clubs the same way again!

Pages: 288

Peter and the Starcatchers, by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson

From the book jacket: “In an evocative and fast-paced adventure on the high seas and on a faraway island, an orphan boy named Peter and his mysterious new friend, Molly, overcome bands of pirates and thieves in their quest to keep a fantastical secret safe and save the world from evil. Bestselling authors Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson have turned back the clock to reveal the wonderful story that precedes J.M. Barrie’s beloved Peter Pan.”

Why this book? This has been on my to-read list for a while (because who doesn’t love Dave Barry?), but I hadn’t managed to pull it together to buy myself a copy. And the library took its own sweet time in acquiring a copy. Hopefully they won’t be so slow in buying the sequel, which came out in July.

My take: Having read one of the original Barrie works, I definitely feel this pulled more from the play and movie adaptations than the original works. Having said that, I enjoyed it anyway, finding it entertaining to see how Barry and Pearson managed to introduce each familiar aspect of the Peter Pan story. I also enjoyed the new characters (especially Mollie) and plot twists that were introduced

The book’s beginning was a little slow, with the authors taking a bit too long to get the action moving, but once they got going, the story remained riveting and fast-paced. There was no obvious, “I wrote this chapter; he wrote the next” kind of divisions disrupting the story, so I’ll definitely read future collaborations between the two, even if they choose to stray from this successful storyline.

Pages: 452 pages

Total pages read for Kat with a K’s Summer Reading Program during July: 740
Total pages read to date this summer: 3890
Total books read this summer: 14

This leaves me having beaten my goal of 10 books for the season, but falling short of my bonus goal of reading de Tocqueville. It’s too bad for Democracy in America, but there’s always the winter… And I just want to note that some of Kat’s other participants leave me feeling woefully inadequate and under-read. As of last week’s update, the folks leading the count had read 50 books apiece and one woman’s page counts were more than quadruple mine. I bow before such prowess.

What is it about a good book that makes it so hard to put down? What makes a book compelling rather than commonplace? Is it the storyline? The characters? A unique twist in the storytelling? Something intangible?

I’m not sure which of these has come into play, but I finally got around to reading Peter and the Starcatchers and it is taking all my self-restraint to put it away for the night and to go to bed. I mean, it’s 2 a.m.! I have another 20 chapters — probably 150 pages — which I could finish by 4.

What sane person thinks like that? What normal person seriously considers intentionally staying up until 4 hours before they need to go to work in order to read a book that will still be sitting there come lunchtime or eveningtide? Will things happen in the book while I’m away that will change the story? It’s not like I’ve left the characters in a precarious situation (which I never would do, by the way). They’re all safe. They’re on the beach. They’ll be fine until I’m able to get back to them. (They will be, won’t they?)

But it doesn’t matter. I really just want to throw myself back on the couch, pull out the book, and read away until I reach “The End” and my curiosity about what happens next is satisfied.

Woe to those who hope their children grow up to be readers. This is the future that you’re pointing them to — sleepless nights and an unquenchable thirst for adventure and knowledge. It’s a hard life.

Since I have no new reading progress to report today, I instead will share the new (to me) book I bought Saturday.

In an effort to spend some daylight sunshiny time outside, we ventured northeast one neighborhood to Adams Morgan. I stopped at Western Market for some sorbet (very few vendors had showed up) and continued north on 18th Street. Rudi wandered over to the bike shop and I hunkered down at Idle Time Books to see what the owner had added recently to her stock.

I always browse the kiddie lit section of used bookstores first. I’m not looking for anything in particular, but I often find books I’ve meant to read or that I read long ago that ask to come home with me.

At Idle Time, the children’s section is buffered by cookbooks and travel books. I found nothing amongst the kid’s books or the travel lit, but nestled amidst the other cookbooks, I did find a treasure — a Moosewood cookbook.

My experiences with Moosewood vegetarian cookbooks have been limited. I was introduced to them by Rebs and have had some recipes out of them over the years, but I’ve never owned one. And they’re very hard to find used, leading me to believe that once someone owns one, it is too well-used and well-loved to make its way to the used bookstore.

My book is Sundays at Moosewood Restaurant: Ethnic and Regional Recipes from the Cooks at the Legendary Restaurant. Aside from the chutzpah it takes to call your own restaurant legendary (however true it might be), the book is filled with exciting recipes I can’t wait to try. From West African Peanut Soup to Sweet Potato Bread to Shepherd’s Pie, it all sounds great — and edible for those who try not to include a lot of meat in their diet. What a treat!

I think I may have cooled off finally from my trip to New York City. Although each time I leave the cool tunnel of the Burrow, I have flashbacks.

We pulled into Penn Station shortly before 11 and after briefly venturing into the heat, we opted to return to the air conditioning (although not in the stations) of the subway. We surfaced at Grand Central a short time later and walked the couple blocks to Coliseum Books, across from the New York Public Library, where Debbie Stoller was scheduled to speak. After assuring ourselves that there would not be a problem with seating, we backtracked a shopfront to Pret a Manger, a UK-based pre-made sandwich shop we fell in love with on our first trip to London. Why can’t Americans figure out how to make tasty sandwiches ahead of time and not have them taste dry and stale and gross by lunchtime?

Rudi dropped me back at the bookstore and headed off to Virgin. I unpacked my sock and waited to be amused. It didn’t take long. Debbie is as funny as her books and she passed around great samples from her crochet book for us to fondle. (It does, however, make it tough to work on picking up gusset stitches if every 45 seconds you have to put down your knitting to hand the next sample on to your row-mate.)

After the talk ended, Rudi returned and we walked across to sit in the “shade” at Bryant Park so I could try and coordinate meeting up with everyone that evening. The heat made me short-tempered, which didn’t make it easier to work out details. Eventually I resorted to the “call me later when you know what’s going on” method of handling things.

We went into the library, which while it may be the most iconic library in the world, is actually crap. Sure it looks nice. But you can’t actually handle the books. Hell, you can’t even handle the magazines without asking. I want to be able to browse. Clearly it was not designed to encourage a love of literature or literacy.

Shortly, the appeal of vaulted ceilings and marble benches wore off and we were forced to consider other means of entertaining ourselves. We contemplated a museum visit. Erik had suggested a perfectly lovely one that I couldn’t remember where it was and since there were no helpful periodicals lying around to consult… we opted for the more pedestrian but easily accessible option of a movie.

I don’t think I’ve ever seen a movie on the 12th or so floor of a building before, but our theater was located high above Times Square. I don’t think it was merely the altitude nor the air-conditioning that made me enjoy Little Miss Sunshine so much, but it put me into a more positive frame of mind.

We hiked back to Grand Central where we waited in the food emporium for Karen and Michael’s train to arrive and for Eri to slog uptown from work. Then we hustled (at least as much hustling as can be done in 110 degree humidex) up to Radio City to get in line for An Evening with Harry, Carrie, and Garp.

The evening featured some celebrities. Whoopie Goldberg opened the evening, but she was very wooden and seemed like she needed to have brushed up a bit more before going on. Tim Robbins introduced Stephen King. Stanley Tucci introduced John Irving. Kathy Bates introduced J.K. Rowling. Soledad O’Brien orchestrated the Q&A.

Here’s the sad part:

I slept through a good portion of John Irving and Stephen King’s readings. The heat and the lack of sleep just caught up with me. (I do know that King read from a story that inspired(?) Stand by Me and that Irving read from part of A Prayer for Owen Meany.)

Periodically I would awaken briefly, laugh or nod at something they were saying, and then doze right back off. As John Irving left the stage, Erik leaned over and whispered, “Now’s the main act,” hoping, I think, that I would finally rally.

He needn’t have worried. I would have awoken from a dead sleep for the author of the Harry Potter books.

Rowling took the stage to the adoring screams that normally accompany a rock star. She settled into her chair and began reading the Pensieve scene from Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince where Harry and Dumbledore witness Dumbledore’s visit to Tom Riddle in the orphanage. She then answered a few questions from pre-selected members of the audience.

One person wanted to know whom (other than Harry) she would bring to life of her characters. Hagrid, she responded, because she thought all of us could use a Hagrid in real life.

Others were angling for insights into the final book of the series. Aunt Petunia has secrets we don’t know about, Rowling admitted. And, to the crushing disappointment of many in the room (sorry, Mum), Dumbledore really is dead. I believe “He won’t be pulling a Gandalf” were her exact words.

The other two authors returned to join Rowling on the stage and they each answered a few more questions, including one to Rowling from Salman Rushdie and his son.

And then it was over. We chatted briefly upstairs as we waited for the crowds below us to dissipate and then descended to the heat and humidity outside. Eri scooted off to catch a train down to her Nan’s in Newark. Rudi returned inside to find his wallet, which had accidentally been left behind. And then the rest of us trekked back towards Grand Central, ate a quick bite, and then put Karen and Michael on their train back to Connecticut.

Erik, Rudi, and I headed toward Brooklyn, where we were greeted by the already cooling house of Erik’s mom, who was kindly letting us stay there in her absence and who had asked a neighbor to come over and turn on the a/c. (Poor Erik was not so lucky, as his a/c was down for the second night in a row and his bedroom thermometer read a balmy 95 degrees. (He packed up his things for the next day and joined us back at his mom’s.)) But Erik did take us down to a pier near his house where you could see the Verrazano Bridge, Manhatten, Staten Island, and the Statue of Liberty through the haze. It was lovely.

The next day we slept in, had lunch with Eri at a sushi place by her office (I had an asparagus roll and a kampyo roll featuring a Japanese vegetable the waitress said was a type of squash), met up with Erik to return the keys at a Starbucks in Midtown, checked with Amtrak’s 1-800 line to learn that our train was late, and then ended up missing our train when it was on time after all. Oops.

Amtrak was lovely and booked us onto a slightly later train and we were home by 10, tired but happy we’d gone north to see our friends and a couple of really cool authors.