This website is making me laugh way too hard.

Kate Middleton for the Win.

In which we avoid writing a Chinese mini-talk

Today was a hypochondria special up in here; I've convinced myself I have at least three different diseases. Add on top of that the tornado watch out for Virginia and my commitment to going out tonight is wavering.

I have to admit, having my Chinese homework hanging over my head really tires me out too. I hated that aspect of academic life in college--there is no escaping the work, and no matter what time of day or whether it's the weekend or not, there is always work to be done.

Of course, like college, that doesn't mean I actually do it. But the thought is terrifying. Worse than a tornado.

I hope the stormy weather calms down before piano bar night tomorrow because that is the real highlight of the week. Yesssssssssssss.

Okay, perhaps it's time to get down to business. After all, my Chinese test is THREE WEEKS FROM TOMORROW. That is slightly insane. On the other hand, though, it is kind of coming together. I sort of feel like I speak Chinese. How crazy is that to say?

In other news, I got a haircut today with the fabulous Stephanie at Parlour on U St. We changed it up a little bit--not too extreme, but it's the first markedly different haircut I've gotten in ten years (when I switched from all one length to subtle layers). And since I got to the area a bit early, I finally tried Ben's Chili Bowl for lunch. Verdict: loved the half-smoke, could leave the chili. And they have the nicest staff in DC.

Is this crap for real?

One of the most absurd NY Times Vows columns I've seen in quite some time:

IT’S fitting that Esther Jin Kim and Joseph Rosenwald Varet met because of their support of Performa, an organization in New York that promotes the work of performing artists. After all, these are two people who approach life as a kind of experiential art form.

For them, even the most mundane activity is an opportunity for artistic expression. Mr. Varet, 35, has been known to drive from farm stand to farm stand to find just the right produce for a picturesque beach picnic. And Ms. Kim, 29, stores her countless pairs of designer jeans in a glass case rather than using something as prosaic as a chest of drawers.

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Mr. Varet’s interest was piqued by the fact that Ms. Kim, whose parents immigrated to Dallas from Seoul shortly before she was born, is Korean. Mr. Varet’s friends and family said that he had long had an affinity for Asian art, cuisine and culture and had traveled extensively in Asia. (NOTE: Can we just call it an Asian fetish and move on?)

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Everything the two of them did together that August was studied and artful, from the particular way they ground and brewed coffee, to the beach time they spent not sunning or swimming but painting watercolors to present to each other.

They began to see the beauty in their differences.

“He’s solid where I’m like water,” Ms. Kim said. “I never caught him in a lie.”

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To top it all off, this is the guy who started the company that put the stupid TVs in New York taxis, allowing you to have the pleasure of watching the same inane clips approximately 402 times in one week. I am pretty sure he has his own circle of hell waiting for him.

Poetic Sundays: O Tell Me the Truth About Love

Here is a fun one--I picked it out for my little brother to read at our wedding. Naturally, I am fond of it and find it quite entertaining. And of course, one cannot have a properly dignified occasion like a wedding without a good line about nose picking.

O Tell Me The Truth About Love
By W.H. Auden

Some say love's a little boy,
And some say it's a bird,
Some say it makes the world go around,
Some say that's absurd,
And when I asked the man next-door,
Who looked as if he knew,
His wife got very cross indeed,
And said it wouldn't do.

Does it look like a pair of pyjamas,
Or the ham in a temperance hotel?
Does its odour remind one of llamas,
Or has it a comforting smell?
Is it prickly to touch as a hedge is,
Or soft as eiderdown fluff?
Is it sharp or quite smooth at the edges?
O tell me the truth about love.

Our history books refer to it
In cryptic little notes,
It's quite a common topic on
The Transatlantic boats;
I've found the subject mentioned in
Accounts of suicides,
And even seen it scribbled on
The backs of railway guides.

Does it howl like a hungry Alsatian,
Or boom like a military band?
Could one give a first-rate imitation
On a saw or a Steinway Grand?
Is its singing at parties a riot?
Does it only like Classical stuff?
Will it stop when one wants to be quiet?
O tell me the truth about love.

I looked inside the summer-house;
It wasn't over there;
I tried the Thames at Maidenhead,
And Brighton's bracing air.
I don't know what the blackbird sang,
Or what the tulip said;
But it wasn't in the chicken-run,
Or underneath the bed.

Can it pull extraordinary faces?
Is it usually sick on a swing?
Does it spend all its time at the races,
or fiddling with pieces of string?
Has it views of its own about money?
Does it think Patriotism enough?
Are its stories vulgar but funny?
O tell me the truth about love.

When it comes, will it come without warning
Just as I'm picking my nose?
Will it knock on my door in the morning,
Or tread in the bus on my toes?
Will it come like a change in the weather?
Will its greeting be courteous or rough?
Will it alter my life altogether?
O tell me the truth about love.

Arlington days

So today we went to a bread-baking class at Northside Social, a great coffee shop/wine bar in the Clarendon section of Arlington. We came away with a massive pile of bread and some sourdough starter. I am still pretty convinced I am not a baker and not capable of making good bread at home, but James is determined to try it. If he wants to bake me delicious bread, I certainly won't object.

Northside Social is owned by the same people who own my very favorite casual restaurant in the greater Washington area, Lyon Hall, which focuses on Alsatian cuisine. It is delightful and delicious and anyone around here who hasn't tried it yet absolutely should (along with Northside Social and their first restaurant, Liberty Tavern).

As long as I am discussing my favorite Arlington businesses, let's discuss Earl's. It may be the best sandwich shop I have encountered, ever. I went there for the first time last weekend and was so happy and yet so terribly sad that I hadn't been going there every weekend since we got back to the area. It was that good. My sandwich was (no joke) thick-cut fresh turkey (like Thanksgiving turkey), gravy, and sweet potato fries (in the sandwich!) on ciabatta. Life-changing.

Of course, we also went to Ray's Hellburger last night, trying the L'il Devil--the smaller burger is way better because the big burger is so big that the middle doesn't get seasoning. And let me tell you, this was good. It hit the spot. It was super rare and juicy and wonderful. It may have been the best burger I've ever had (and part of that, no doubt, was due to how badly I wanted a burger right then. You get sent the burger you're meant to have, I think).

Misc.

Ziti. Yum. Still yum after omitting over half the cheese and butter that Giada demanded. No, Giada, I defy you!

Sooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo excited because I am going to my first cooking class ever on Saturday--a class on bread baking at the ever-wonderful Northside Social in Clarendon. If I actually successfully learn to bake bread, that could be a delicious (though decidedly non-Atkins-friendly) pastime.

Chinese class is sort of nearing a breaking point. My test is four weeks from today. I can feel the people around me start to snap as the pressure weighs down on us. And at the end, when we've all been crushed to smithereens by our own psyches and the teachers' expectations of us, we'll all be able to observe: 我们都被压坏了。

Aaaand right now I am avoiding writing a mini-talk (a very FSI-specific term) on American sports culture. Great. My favorite.

Poetic Sundays: The River-Merchant's Wife

Since last week is over and thus so is my prohibition on all things Chinese, I can now share one of my favorite poems: a rough translation of a Chinese-language poem by Li Po done by the poet Ezra Pound.

I must confess that, based solely on his work, Pound is one of my favorite poets ever. Unfortunately, he is an awkward choice--at some point he descended into madness, fascism, and anti-semitism, even being arrested for treason (before being deemed unfit to stand trial due to insanity). Certainly not a personal life to be admired, and some will argue that his work should be dismissed because of his abhorrent actions and views.

I am not sure how much I've ever bought that sort of argument. I remember reading Chinua Achebe's essay on why the racism central to Conrad's Heart of Darkness obviates the novella's artistic merit. I wasn't really sure what to think at the time, especially as I found Heart of Darkness so terribly dull that I had no intention of ever reading it again.

But I will not stop reading Pound. Because oh, his poems! I love the simple beauty of his language, mixed with startling erudition. Here is a favorite of his loose translations of Chinese poems--poignant and lovely and longing.

The River-Merchant's Wife: A Letter
By Li Po; loosely translated by Ezra Pound

While my hair was still cut straight across my forehead
I played about the front gate, pulling flowers.
You came by on bamboo stilts, playing horse,
You walked about my seat, playing with blue plums.
And we went on living in the village of Chokan:
Two small people, without dislike or suspicion.
At fourteen I married My Lord you.
I never laughed, being bashful.
Lowering my head, I looked at the wall.
Called to, a thousand times, I never looked back.

At fifteen I stopped scowling,
I desired my dust to be mingled with yours
Forever and forever and forever.
Why should I climb the look out?

At sixteen you departed,
You went into far Ku-to-en, by the river of swirling eddies,
And you have been gone five months.
The monkeys make sorrowful noise overhead.

You dragged your feet when you went out.
By the gate now, the moss is grown, the different mosses,
Too deep to clear them away!
The leaves fall early this autumn, in wind.
The paired butterflies are already yellow with August
Over the grass in the West garden;
They hurt me. I grow older.
If you are coming down through the narrows of the river Kiang,
Please let me know beforehand,
And I will come out to meet you
As far as Cho-fu-Sa.

Here comes the weekend

So now that Jezebel has gotten sort of preachy and dull... I was in need of a new humorous lady-blog to give me updates from the world and the internet. Enter The Hairpin. Love.

There is a tornado watch out. In the interest of avoiding any tornadoes afoot, I have stayed inside and done very little (clearly the tornado wouldn't want me studying Chinese).

Though I've loaded my Netflix queue with Mandarin-language films, last night (still feeling not-great from a cold I've had all week) I reached my breaking point and decided we (that's the royal we) were done with Mandarin for the week. So instead I watched The September Issue, and it was stellar. James enjoyed it just as much. I am not sure what Anna Wintour's reaction was to the film, but hopefully she's not too dumb to notice she comes across as totally ridiculous in it?

Top ten

I was thinking the other day about the things I most missed while out of the country. A rough top ten list:

1. This so definitely takes the top spot: avocado.

2. Instant gratification: if I need something RIGHT NOW, I can go to a store and get it. And even if I order something online, I'll receive it in a week, versus a month.

3. Oysters. Many of these are food-related.

4. Drinking tap water. No, scratch that, brushing my teeth with tap water. SO MUCH EASIER. So many minutes of going outside to the distiller saved. This probably should be higher, actually.

5. Supermarkets.

6. Taxis! Also maybe should be higher. Forgive my random order.

7. Netflix watch instantly.

8. Blue skies. The sky in Dhaka was almost always hazy and gray.

9. Usable internet. (Still sort of miss that in my current living situation.)

10. Having a reason to put a little thought into what I wear each day.

And the #1 thing I don't miss about Dhaka: hand-sized spiders.

Round-up

Tonight's dinner: the most delicious spring pasta dish EVER.

The Washington Post reveals the winners of this year's Peeps diorama contest. Brilliant.

Aaaand this is why liberal arts education is better.

News from our future place of abode: the Chinese ladies want to see that deed.

Less than a month before Pinkberry hits DC!

Poetic Sundays: a poem with capital letters

Here is a favorite, which I hope you all enjoy. Perhaps my enjoyment of it reflects my slight disdain toward my home state's most-lauded institution of higher learning. Friendly rivalry and all, plus a bit of "seriously? You're coming to the Jersey suburbs just at the phase of life when it's time to run screaming out of them?" mixed in.

a poem with capital letters

by jane cooper

john berryman asked me to write a poem about roosters.

elizabeth bishop, he said, once wrote a poem about roosters.

do your poems use capital letters? he asked. like god?

i said. god no, he said, like princeton! i said,

god preserve me if i ever write a poem about princeton, and i thought,

o john berryman, what has brought me into this company of poets

where the masculine thing to do is use capital letters

and even princeton struts like one of god’s betters?

Le weekend

The quest to pretend I live in Paris instead of the DC suburbs continues. Today's steps included buying this dress and listening to lots of Carla Bruni.

In other music news, I heard a band called the Spring Standards play in DC on Friday. They are so Brooklyn that it is almost a little ridiculous, but this video is definitely pretty great. I just bought their album on iTunes and plan on rocking out to it.

(I will note that this was my inaugural visit to the Atlas District, aka H Street--I am not counting a trip to Ethiopic since that is still pretty close to Union Station. The weather didn't cooperate, but I'd say it was generally a success. Really liked Smith Commons, where we had a delicious dinner involving oysters, lamb chops, and truffle-oil mac and cheese.)

So bummed to be coming down with a cold today, on the last day of Miss Lexi's visit, no less. So today was pretty much me hanging out with my iTunes, my Chinese textbooks, a big pot of tomato sauce. I did take some time to watch a Chinese movie, and while I am happy to have understood more of the dialogue, that is about the only relationship the word "happy" has with any of director Zhang Yimou's films. (Today was Raise the Red Lantern.) I keep thinking that the next one won't make me want to shoot myself. NEVER AGAIN.

Also, somehow the Chinese teachers have convinced me that Gong Li is ugly. How did this happen? They say she is too ruddy and sturdy-looking to be pretty, and that she only appeals to international audiences. And somehow now I've totally bought into the Chinese view of her, and the entire movie I keep thinking, hide your children before Gong Li stomps on them! RUN!!!!!!

Blossoms and miscellany

So... we (meaning the Government) may be shutting down. We're gonna party like it's senior year of college and we again have no paycheck (bring on the Franzia!).

But in the meantime, a few delightful things lately:

I hate crowds (Dhaka and Beijing what what? Yeah, I apparently am out to hurt myself.) and thus avoided the Tidal Basin like the plague this cherry blossom season. But I did feel it necessary to see at least a few of the pink buds, and so we visited Dumbarton Oaks, a museum with beautiful gardens owned by Harvard. Really pretty--and we also checked out the museum, which has collections of three (random, apparently unconnected?) things: Byzantine art, Pre-Columbian art, and a collection of antique botanical books. Frolicking:


We also took a break from studying Chinese to get in a little culture. We made it ALL THE WAY to Southwest (dude... crazy!) to the Arena Stage, which is housed in a beautiful new theater, and saw an excellent production of Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? The acting was great. And it was so good to get away from homework for a bit.

AND before the show we visited the Maine Avenue fish market! It was crazy--this area (only a few blocks from the theater) does not look the slightest bit like it belongs in Washington, DC. We wandered into the fish market area, where most places didn't seem to be selling food suitable for dinner--it was more stinky whole fish out on ice. Finally, I approached one stall with a red-faced man who was straight out of hale-and-hearty-fishmonger central casting. He beckoned me closer, and while adjusting one of his fish and knocking cubes of fishy ice on me, he informed me Jimmy's had the best cooked fish. Around the corner, he told us.

So we were off to Jimmy's, and it was indeed awesome--the stuffed shrimp and crab cakes were fabulous, as was their mac and cheese (we didn't try their desserts, but they looked pretty amazing too). Unfortunately, there is nowhere to sit (most people were doing takeout), and so we ended up sitting on a concrete barrier with the Maine Avenue traffic whizzing by us, trying not to drip grease on ourselves. And it was delicious.

And what about Chinese? The thing that occupies the largest space in our brain right now? I can say things! Crazy! In preparation for the test, I am now in the the phase of only watching Mandarin movies off Netflix, and vaguely considering going to some meetups or something. So overall, I feel like I turned a corner recently and am feeling more confident. Of course, if we miss a significant chunk of class time when the government shuts down... yeah, that would kill my confidence pretty fast.

But for now, no thinking about that--Lexi comes to town this weekend! Yay!!!!!!!!!!!! We are partying like serious nerd-folk-loving hipsters tomorrow night.

I interrupt this blog to bring you news of deliciousness.

Savory oatmeal: sooooooooooooooooooo good.

Tonight I am planning my first experiment with hominy, i.e. food we didn't eat in New Jersey. I am excited yet afraid.

Off for a long walk to Dumbarton Oaks. Hope it is not mobbed, which would defeat the purpose of going to Dumbarton Oaks instead of to the main cherry blossom insanity.

And here, we hit our whining-about-language-training low point.

Scattered thundershowers and scattered post-tequila haze... to leave my apartment or not to leave my apartment?

We may have to go with not. I will try to make it productive by doing some Chinese homework, at least. And swearing to get out and do something at least vaguely productive tomorrow... maybe a museum or a stroll through Dumbarton Oaks?

Blargh blargh blargh. I started this entry so I could sprinkle it with inspirational quotations from an old file of favorite quotations I have from college. But they are all too idealistic for my mood today, which is a fog of hangover and Chinese characters.

If you're ever tempted to learn Chinese, know that the speaking really isn't that bad. The tones are annoying, but if you mess them up, people will roughly understand you from context, and you'll survive. And the grammar is brilliantly simple and logical.

But know that reading involves memorizing around 1,500 little distinct picture/symbol thingamajiggies. (And that's only to get to the 1-level on a five-point scale.) And the little pictures will not all be wonderfully different and memorable; oh no, many of them will be EXACTLY the same except for some minute little line somewhere that you will only notice after scrutinizing the two characters next to each other, trying to figure out how on earth anyone could claim they were distinct. It will hurt your eyes--my already-insane eye prescription (-7.5 and -8 in my two eyes) is heading somewhere off the charts, and I can tell I'll need to go in for an adjustment soon. But more than that, it will hurt your soul. And you will wonder why you once thought it was so awesome to go to language school for five hours a day and yearn for that desk job you once eschewed.

The end. But rest assured, the others can't be that bad. Just steer clear of Chinese and Japanese and their confounded little pictures.

On tap this week: Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf? at Arena Stage, Brooklyn hipster bands on H Street, and next weekend with Lexi!!!

Toilet humor

Aaaand heavens to Betsy it's April already. March was a poor showing, but perhaps the next few months of preparing to go to post will prove more fruitful blogging material.

I noticed at 11:32pm last night that there was a call for best (worst?) overseas bathroom stories for the Foreign Service Blog Round-up, due at midnight. Given that I was still slogging through a Chinese newspaper article about people selling fake cigarettes being sentenced to death, there was no way I'd make it, but oh, do I have stories.

Bangladesh was rife with bathroom incidents, considering that in two years in the country, the only public bathroom I encountered that was nicer than that in an average McDonald's in the U.S. was in the Westin. And it could go wayyyyyyyy down from there. It just wasn't an adventure if you weren't sharing your stall with a spider the size of the palm of your hand. Add in a few lizards and you had a veritable menagerie.

Perhaps the worst was at a high school in rural Bangladesh, outside of Comilla. The caravan of cars was about to start the two or three-hour drive back to Dhaka, but I discreetly got my female FSN to tell the driver to wait a minute so I could run to the bathroom.

Only problem is, bathroom is really just a turn of phrase here that had no relationship to the facilities available. Which was a shack divided by a thin wall that didn't go even close to all the way to the ceiling, and in each "stall" there was a hole in the ground. And from the ceiling hung down a net of spiderwebs that reached down to about the level of my head. Awesome.

So I am trying to balance in my work clothes and with my purse and not fall in the hole and not stick my head in the mass of spiderwebs, when I realize that across the flimsy wall was the Ambassador, who had also decided it was time for a pit stop. So now I was trying not to fall in, not to stick my head in the spiderwebs, and not to make any noise. Needless to say, this was both horrifying and mortifying.

So there you have it, my friends. When people claim our jobs are glamorous and our lives are filled with tuxedos and champagne and glimmering white toilet seats so clean you can see your face in them, you can now tell them about The Hole.