Sunday
Friday night, Ellie and Sunshine and I headed to the Irish local for a few pints while making plans for our short weekend. "Here's what we'll do," we said as the band struck up 1952 Vincent Black Lightning and we ordered our second basket of fries with curry sauce, "head to the weekly craft thing at Eastern Market tomorrow morning, grab some mojitos and paninis at Karma before going to the Clarendon flea market in the afternoon, and then walk across the pretty Key Bridge for a lengthy and swelling Ethiopian dinner in Georgetown in the evening." There'd been some deliberation over whether this Irish Pub Band would know Richard Thompson's 1952 Vincent Black Lightning when we'd originally toyed with the idea of requesting it. We'd decided they probably wouldn't, and besides, we were talking over the music anyway. Within minutes the band was playing our song unasked: this was good weekend ju-ju. There was no deliberation over our plans: our omen was smiling on us. 1952 Vincent Black Lightning is sacrosanct. Then we stayed up till five am. So we dragged ourselves out of the house Saturday afternoon and headed to the Japanese Street Festival (a centerpiece to this last weekend of the annual Cherry Blossom Thing). It was at Federal Triangle, but we got off the Metro at Farragut West and walked halfway across downtown. We had a great time* even though it was drizzling. Then we hopped the Metro back to Farragut, discovered Karma was closed, and walked the other half-downtown to Dupont Circle where we browsed a consignment store before enjoying a large, yummy meal at Raku. Then we headed home to watch a movie about a guy with no hands.** So yeah, Saturday was still great, but what exactly happened to our plans? [Cavin]
this had happened to Mr. Cavin by 9:57:00 AM
Then, a 2 sided conversation ensued...
* The festival had really good exhibitions by Japanese dance and drumming troupes, the latter being particularly impressive. There were stalls lining Penn and, what, 11th Street maybe--three or four blocks at least--selling traditional-type tickets like decoratively papered boxes, men's shirts made from vintage kimono material, and sushi. There were also stalls selling Tokyo pop stuff like little toys and t-shirts. We ended up staying out in the sputtering rain for several hours, and when we got hungry we stopped at the food stalls (which were some of the best I've ever seen at a thing like this). I only got an itty bitty veggie egg roll. But Sunshine and Ellie got chubby slabs of teriyaki chicken skewers about as long as my forearm. These dyed their fingers orange for the rest of the day.
** This movie is The Best Years of Our Lives (William Wyler, 1946--see IMDB entry here), a relatively oddball and disjointed little affair staring a real double amputee as the double amputee and the ever-radiant and classy Myrna Loy as the mother of the amputee's married friend's home-wrecking love interest, whose father means well by pioneering small startup loans, but maybe drinks a little too much. Oh: War is hell! Recommended melodrama.
I was really looking forward to reading your take on the weekend. It is absolutely perfect. I will not be able to add anything in my blog to make it any better, so I won't even try. However, anyone who is interested can check out www.flickr/photos/sudokugirl.com to see the visual side of the story. I wish I had gotten a picture of those chicken skewers though! Damn!
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