Road Trip to Ruin - Part Deux!

Read part one

During last year's trip, Juan’s gout got the better of him.  He and Val were sidelined at the hotel most of the weekend while Trish and I enjoyed the DC sites Judy Garland-style aboard the Old Town Trolley.  Even with yesterday’s Flintstone-sized steak and protein-heavy meals, Juan managed to stay gout-free, so we decided to christen Sunday, “Trolley Day.”

We were still groggy and tired from last night’s fire alarm and evacuation, but we managed to make it to the trolley stop by a respectable 9:30 AM.  Though early - at least for a vacation Sunday - it was already hot as balls.  Just watching the joggers run past us caused instant sweat circles to form under my arms. 

As we waited, Juan noticed a petit Indian girl furiously texting at a nearby corner.  He made an offhand remark comparing her to Divya, the character on Royal Pains.  Of course, as she walked toward us we realized it was indeed Reshma Shetty, the actress who plays Divya.  I think she might be our first DC celebrity sighting.  She’s not exactly Obama, but I’ll take it.

For the most part, Trish and I had a great experience on the trolley last year.  But there was one guide who felt it was appropriate and entertaining to air his dysfunctional family’s secrets to us between his descriptions of DC’s famous sites - super awkward.  We prayed he had since been committed to a mental institution or was at least now delegated to an office were he no longer is required to interact with the general public.  I’m not sure if either option actually came to pass, but happily, we didn’t come across him all day.

After rolling by the National Cathedral, Embassy Row, Georgetown and Foggy Bottom, we jumped off the trolley downtown to check out the Hope Diamond at the Smithsonian’s National History Museum.  Maybe it’s a girl thing, but what’s the big deal?  I mean, it’s bigger than your average diamond - about the size of a quarter (I was hoping for something closer to baseball-sized) - in a seriously hideous setting.  There were far more impressive pieces in the rest of the museum’s gem collection.  Oh well, it was still worth the trip to view the whole collection.  There was also a really interesting exhibit about race in America and an insect exhibit that Juan and I were totally into; the gals, not so much. 

We were, however, all in agreement over the delicious and totally cheesy red, white and blue cupcakes in the museum cafeteria.  In fact, for a museum cafeteria, the food was pretty darn good.  It was no gourmet Italian five-course meal like yesterday, but hell, I don’t think my liver could handle another day of non-stop food and drink anyway.  

The museum entrance was jam packed with sweaty tourists waiting to get frisked and metal-detected by the time we headed out.  I guess the rest of DC had finally recovered from its Saturday night revelry and accompanying collective hangover.  To avoid the likely crush at the other Smithsonian museums, we opted instead for a relaxed trolley ride around the "orange loop," which would take us on a leisurely tour of the downtown sites.  Unfortunately, the ride was neither relaxed nor leisurely.  Like the museum, the trolley was soon filled to capacity with hot, sweaty bodies jockeying for window seats on the non-air-conditioned trolley car.  Adding to the misery of sticky seats and overheated bodies pressed tight, we were soon sitting in traffic, baking in the sun with nary a wisp of breeze.  We did, however, have front row seats to a gnarly bike accident that seemed to be the cause of all the traffic.  Lucky us!

Oh, I also forgot to mention the annoying southern wenches who made life hell for us and our poor driver/tour guide.  To avoid having us sit and bake in traffic, our guide made a huge detour that took us well off the regular route, but at least kept us moving.

Wench 1: (gesturing to a random gray building with a trace of condescending attitude and southern drawl) What building is that?
Guide:  (politely) I'm not sure.  This isn't my regular route and I wouldn't want to give you false information.
Wench 2: (full of attitude, reciting from a sign in front of another random building) That's the Department of Blahdity Blah's Building.
Guide:  Yes, I see.  Thank you.

We continue.  Yes, there is a long stretch of silence.  But the traffic is crazy and the driver is obviously concentrating on not getting us all killed.

Wench 1: (loudly and obnoxiously to the whole trolley car, annoyed that the driver isn't entertaining her) The building over there is the National Blah Blah Building.  We ate lunch there yesterday and if anyone wants a reasonably-priced meal, you should check it out.

Guide: (still polite) Thank you for that.  I apologize, but as soon as I negotiate this traffic and get us back on the route, I'll commence with the regular tour.  Thanks for your patience.

We finally get back on track and the tour guide starts his regular spiel.

Wench 1: (interrupting our guide - her overly friendly southern twang amplifying her condescension - she throws out a historical tidbit that she is sure he won't know in order to prove that she is indeed a total bitch)  Isn't it true that this area was mainly used as grazing land for livestock?
Guide: (calmly and without missing a beat):  You are correct.  In fact...
He then goes on to give a detailed account of the agricultural history of the particular area the wench was referring to. 

That shut the bitch up. 

Lest you label me a judgmental, north-biased asshole, bear in mind that throughout the entire trip these wenches continually hemmed and hawed, sighed loudly and dramatically fanned themselves to make sure we were all well aware of their discomfort and dissatisfaction.  If you can't stand the heat, ladies, get the hell out of the trolley.

Anyway, we finally disembarked after leaving a nice tip for the driver for putting up with the wenches and jumped on another trolley back to the hotel.  It had been a long day and the unbearable heat coupled with the even more unbearable southern wenches drained us of any motivation to continue sight-seeing.  The sky threatened thunderstorms, so we chose to lounge and nap in our hotel rooms for the rest of the afternoon.

Is there anything better than turning up the AC, stripping down to your underwear and just vegging out wrapped up in a big 'ole soft comforter?  Methinks not.  Anyway, when we finally rose from napping, it was already well past dinner time.  Juan and Val's room was empty so we assumed they had already headed out for a romantic dinner somewhere.  Trish and I, however, opted for a luxurious room service feast and trashy TV.  Why bother getting dressed when the food can come to you, right? 

Turns out Juan and Val just ran downstairs for dinner in the hotel restaurant.  When they got back, we decided to stay in the rest of the night and rent an in-room movie, Skyline.  I gag a little just typing the title remembering how wretched the movie was.  Poor Donald Faison.  Either his agent sucks or he has some crazy-expensive drug habit he needs to keep funding.  

As has become our tradition, we ended our DC trip with the all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet in the hotel lobby, the resulting heartburn a lingering memento of our travels.  With July 4 falling annoyingly on a Monday, I decided it best to jump on the Acela train and head straight back to NYC rather than sitting in traffic with the sibs back to NJ and then fighting the fireworks traffic on the bus back into the city. 

I was safe and sound and back in Queens by 5:30 PM.   I'm already planning our gastronomical itinerary for next year's trip, though it will be difficult to top this year's carnivore's delight.  Maybe Brazilian Charruscarria...

Below are from our post-breakfast buffet photo session on the grounds of the fabulous Omni.

Trish posing seductively

The fountain

Where are the chips?   Too late, I'm bored.

July Fourth in DC or Our Road Trip to Ruin - Part One

Happy Independence Day, America!  Isn’t it ironic how our forefathers so vehemently fought for our independence from Britain, all the while being served dinner by their slaves?  It’s comforting to know hypocrisy has always been a important fixture of our government.  Oh well, It’s still a great excuse to take a road trip.  So here it is - drum roll, please - the Third Annual DC Fourth of July Pineda Road Trip to Ruin or TADCFJPPTR for you texters (our 2009 and 2010 trips). 

I was excited to head to NJ Friday afternoon to meet up with the rest of the Pineda clan.  Morgan Stanley had graciously granted me a half day at work.  When I called for a pick-up at the bus stop in Cranford I knew something was amiss from Val’s short and detached phone manner.  I was not surprised to find out the van had a flat tire. 

Juan had actually noticed a slow leak that morning and brought the van in to the local Goodyear store where their obviously incompetent technicians found nothing wrong.  On top of that, Juan had now been waiting four hours for their tow truck to bring the van back to the shop.  It never came.  We ended up calling AAA who arrived within the half hour.  Yeah AAA.  Boo Goodyear.  Oh well, no real Pineda sojourn is complete without some unplanned disaster.  At least we got it out of the way up front.   

The first stop on our little road trip was Target where we shopped our cares away as the mechanics at Goodyear replaced the tire.  We finally hit the road four hours later armed with our gourmet Target dinner - turkey jerky, an industrial-sized Frito-Lay variety pack, Swedish fish and Pepperidge Farm Tahoe cookies.  Don’t judge, we were stress eating. 

Thankfully, we missed a lot of the holiday traffic due to our late departure.  Even so, we made our regular pit stop, the Maryland House rest area, for crab & cheese soft pretzels at Phillips.  It sounds gross, but they’re actually quite delicious.  By midnight we were luxuriating in our regular DC hotel, the Omni Shoreham. 

With our first night in DC a bust, we headed to bed without even ordering room service.  I know, it’s so unlike us but we were ass tired.  Don’t you worry, we made up for it the next day at lunch by ordering a 50-ounce T-bone steak.  You read correctly, a 50-ounce steak!  And that was just one of five courses - yes, five.

Acqua al 2 is a little Italian restaurant we stumbled into by accident.  We were wandering around Eastern Market, a fun but over-priced flea market/tourist trap near capital hill, looking for some good food and a place to get out of the oppressive DC heat.  We literally picked the place at random from the many restaurants on the block.  Turns out it’s been touted as one of DC’s best new restaurants - pay back for yesterday’s flat tire.

Our Italian feast consisted of a salad sampling menu, an antipasto platter, a pasta sampling menu, the aforementioned steak (at left) and a dessert sampling menu.  I’d go into detail but there were just so many different dishes, all of them lip-smacking good.  Just check out the menu here.  The highlight, of course, was that perfectly cooked hunk of cow flesh, seared and juicy, wet-aged and so yummy you didn’t need extra sauce or seasoning.  Our sassy waitress, Khamise (rhymes with chemise), kept the bread basket full and the platters coming.  Coincidentally, she mentioned the chef is Filipino - holla! 

Oh, I totally forgot to mention our ultra-cool drink, a lemon vodka-based concoction spiced with hot peppers.  You could actually see the pepper seeds floating on top.  Spice + alcohol = love.  I learned that in AP calculus.

Bloated and tipsy, we headed back out into the sticky heat and straight to a gelato stand.  Yes, we literally rolled our fat asses away from a five-course meal and down the block for a second dessert.  We’re sick, sick people. 

After our Italian food orgy we hopped back on the metro for the ride back to the hotel.  I know the DC metro is immaculately clean and doesn’t smell like urine and homeless people like the NYC subway, but their pass system is not visitor friendly.  Every stop is a different price and you have to swipe that flimsy paper card to enter AND exit.  And what genius decided to carpet the train cars?  Seriously, that’s just nasty.

Back at the hotel we decided a couple hours at the pool would work up our appetites again for dinner as well as provide us an opportunity for more drinking.  Val (at left with her sassy new hat from Eastern Market) was a teetotaler all last month because of her fertility medication, but she’s taking a break in July.  So naturally, her aim this trip was to stay happily buzzed for the weekend.  I’m not sure this is exactly what Dr. Phil means by setting a goal and committing to it, but perhaps he should be more specific. 

Oh, did I mention we also ordered a few “snacks” along with our drinks to get us through until dinner?  Just a pulled pork sandwich, a Kobe beef hot dog, sweet potato fries and fried calamari - you know, some light fare. 

After a power nap to help digest the day’s incredible caloric intake, we headed out for a late dinner at Medaterra, a Middle Eastern restaurant around the corner from our hotel.  To keep Val on course with her imbiber’s resolution, we immediately ordered a pitcher of sangria.  We then followed with an array of appetizers for a tapas-style dinner - corn and spinach risotto, grilled shrimp, taboula, lamb sausage, pork chops, garlic string beans, bruschetta and mussels.  Again, just some light fare before bed.  We ended up skipping dessert.  Who wants those extra calories?

It took great effort not to vomit up the contents of my stomach on the walk back to the hotel, but I managed the two blocks incident free.  Weary from the day's alcohol and food binge, I fell into a deep, coma-like slumber as soon as my greasy head touched down on my pillow.  This is what hibernating bears must feel like.  Then the nightmare began.  There were flashing lights and sirens and a strange voice was speaking to me. 

Wait, this wasn't a dream, it was the fire alarm!

Believe it or not, at 2 AM the fire alarm in the hotel began a banshee-like wailing.  In surreal contrast, a female voice from a speaker in the wall then calmly told us to proceed to the nearest stairwell to evacuate.  Two minutes later, Val rushed into our room, roused us out of our beds and pushed us toward the stairs.  Apparently she was already wide awake, stricken by a mild case of DC's local version of Montezuma's revenge, or as I like to call it, Lewinsky's other dirty little secret.  I leaned over the edge of the railing and looked down at the bottomless pit of the stairwell.  Why the hell did we request a high floor?

Seeing all the pajama clad guests funnelling into the stairwell, I was actually impressed by how put together most people looked.  Yes, most wore mismatched t-shirts and shorts or bathrobes, but how come I was the only one with pillow lines across their face and bushy disheveled hair?  It was as if the hotel was taken over by perfectly coiffed movie-extra hotel guests.

Around floor two we came to a standstill.  If there really was a fire, we would soon be a delicious mound of human barbecue.  We soon spotted the source of our log jam, an elderly lady in a wheel chair who was now forced to limp slowly down the last couple of flights.  Why did her two young, healthy caregivers not fling her bony ass over their shoulders and haul her schmata-clad frame down those stairs?  What 'evs, I was just too darn tired to panic.  If I burn, at least I had one helluva last meal.

We finally made it outside.  There was absolutely no sign of urgency from the guests or the basically non-existent hotel staff.  Hundreds of guests were calmly milling around, just a few feet from a potentially towering inferno.  Then came the sirens.  Two fire trucks pulled up.  Again, absolutely no sense of urgency from anyone.  Put everyone in tuxes and gowns and it could've been intermission at the Met.

Finally, a bellman announced that all was safe and that we could return to our rooms.  We decided to wait it out given the capacity of the two elevators is about five people if two of them happen to be Olsen twins.  Fifteen minutes later we headed into the lobby where at least a dozen people were still waiting at each elevator.  Grudgingly, we decided to take the stairs back up to the eighth floor.  Note to self, avoid stairs if you've eaten thrice your body weight within the last 24 hours. 

Finally, sweaty and nauseous we climbed into our disheveled beds.  Thus ended day two of our Road Trip to Ruin.   

I’ll post Part Deux of our trip shortly.  Check back soon.

Me and my big wiener

Juan's poolside mudslide

Torture, Chocolate and DB Bonds - the Perfect Road Trip

One drawback to working a full time job where your vacation days are spent working a second job (the summer conservatory) is that you never get a real vacation. Sure, I get an occasional long weekend now and then, but I haven’t had a full week off in over three years. So I donned my rose colored glasses and pretended it was a warm August day and dragged Trish to DC for some R&R. Happy MLK day to me!

With snow from the last couple of storms still lingering in dirty piles along the street, Trish and I packed up the car and headed south. On route, we decided to stop for a day of retail therapy at Arundel Mills outlet mall. We actually spent almost five hours there power shopping. I made out with some great buys (another Ben Sherman fedora - I'm obsessed!), but the mall was definitely on the shady side of ghetto fabulous. I’m sure the mall’s design and décor were the height of chic in 1991, but now – not so much.

One reason we chose DC is that our favorite hotel is there, the Omni Shoreham. It’s walking distance from the trendy Adams Morgan neighborhood and a block from the Metro. Trish had racked up a free night’s stay (the Shoreham’s become our annual July 4th destination for the past couple of years), so we only had to spring for one night – love those freebies. Since Trish is enrolled in the select member program, we were welcomed with a tray of macaroons, chocolate and a bottle of wine in our room, all gratis (see yummy pics to the left). Beat that, Holiday Inn Express!

After reading some yelp reviews, I picked Cashion’s Eat Place for a nice sit down dinner on our first night. The food was good, but nothing we couldn’t easily find in NYC. It was more interesting for people watching. First off, the restaurant and the neighborhood is so darn white (and I don't mean the building facades). The only ethnics were busy bussing tables. There we were, two very brown individuals sandwiched between two gentile southern gals on our right and two young gay boys on our left, apparently on a first date. The girls weren’t very interesting, but the gays were fascinating. One was a pretentious young lawyer with long greased-back blond hair a la Matthew McConaughey circa 2008. His cute, twinky date probably just started growing arm pit hair. The poor thing just kept smiling and nodding while Whitey McConoughy just babbled on about his job and Washington politics – exactly the kind of conversation that will guarantee a second date. And by second date, I mean a text saying, “Thanks for dinner. I’ll call you sometime.” I was actually surprised by the high gay quotient in the restaurant. Who knew DC was such a homo hotbed? The table of daddy bears lasciviously licking their paws as I walked past them on the way back from the bathroom was a tad disconcerting while at the same time strangely flattering.  Don't judge me, people. At my age you've got to take it where you can.

For day two of our DC escapade, Trish and I decided to forego one of the Smithsonian museums for the lesser known National Museum of Crime and Punishment. If serial killers and medieval torture turn you on, chuck your Viagra and hightail it to this place. Intense is an understatement. For some reason I thought it was going to be a cheesy, Coney Island-esque exhibit in the vein of a Ripley's Believe It or Not museum.  But this place takes its murder and torture very seriously.  From Ted Bundy's VW bug - creepy considering it was the scene of so many murders - to the actual studio where "America's Most Wanted" is taped, this place is a sadomasochist's wet dream. It's definitely worth a visit if you plan to be in DC.  But be warned, wear comfortable shoes and bring your reading glasses.  The museum's plan doesn't include much seating and each exhibit is accompanied by exhaustive history and background information.  We were there for three hours and by hour two I started skimming, my brain suffering from text overload.

We needed a break after all that crime and punishment, so we headed back to the hotel for a nap before heading out to Arlington, VA, where we had tickets to Sunset Boulevard at the Signature.  I know Sunset Boulevard sucks, but we went to enjoy one of Trish's many Broadway boyfriend's, DB Bonds.  I'll post a review separately.  Let's just say the production itself was top notch, but the show would have been better served were DB allowed to perform shirtless for more of it.  Oh, and that Florence Lacey sure can sing.  She can even belt a pure "e" vowel, unlike Glenn Close ("...with one look I'll be mihhhhhhhh!").  Hey, I love Glenn, but a high chest belt is definitely not listed under "special skills" on her resume.  Does she even have a resume?  I mean, really.  Can you imagine asking Glenn for a resume at an audition? 

We were going to head out to another museum Monday morning for the holiday, but we were just too beat from all the weekend's festivities.  Instead we decided to sleep in and order our regular hot chocolate wake-up call.  Yes, another wonderful perc at the Omni - every morning you can have a pitcher of homemade chocolaty goodness delivered to your door complete with homemade marshmallows and whipped cream on the side - the breakfast of champions!  With a couple of hours to spare before our late check-out, we got cleaned up and headed to the hotel's gardens to take some new headshots.  Considering I've used the same 8x10 for about a decade, I'd say an update is long overdue. I'll post our fave shots soon, after Trish has photoshopped out my raccoon eyes and smoothed out my crows feet. 

In the end, I always judge a good trip by the food, so this weekend rates pretty high on the food-o-meter: Cashion's for some high end seafood, the enormous breakfast buffet at our hotel (we're talking omelet station, waffles, breakfast meats and a huge continental spread), a huge bowl of Pho and Vietnamese BBQ at Pho DC in Chinatown and some tasty Mexican at Guapo's after the show at the Signature.  And of course, a trip south is never complete without a stop at the Maryland House rest stop on I-95 for crab cakes at Phillips!  I know, crabs at a rest area - sounds like a health department warning - but it's now become a Pineda road trip tradition. 

And now back to reality (and slush).

July Fourth

Stricken with a case of gout, Juan gimped his way through our second annual Washington DC July Fourth Celebration at the fabulous Shoreham Hotel. The hotel was just as opulent and borderline inappropriate as I remember, with the bell staff (all black, of course) in white uniforms and gloves opening doors and pushing luggage. Gotta’ love the south. Because the other Pinedas were in camp all day and I had a half day at work, we weren’t able to leave NJ until around four in the afternoon. After our annual pee break and pilgrimage to the Maryland House rest area on I-95, where Trish and I noshed on cheesy crab pretzels at Philips, we rolled into DC around ten. As spoiled New Yorkers, we were surprised to find most of the restaurants in the area closing up by the time we checked in and settled into our rooms. So sadly, our first celebratory vacation meal consisted of Chinese take-out. We did end up splurging for some yummy room service dessert - cupcake of the day (vanilla w/ fresh fruit) and a trio of crème brulees.

Gouty McGouterson and Val spent almost all day Saturday lounging in their caftans poolside while Trish and I hit the tourist trail aboard the Old Town Trolley. I’d highly recommend the all day pass, which basically let’s you wheel around all the city’s famous landmarks serenaded by the cheese-tastic ramblings of the trolley driver. The only drawback is that the trolley route is one way, which forced us to ride the complete circuit twice after missing our stop the first time around. We also spent part of our trip trapped on a near empty trolley with a Jersey couple who seemed equally uncomfortable with our driver’s crazy disclosure of random personal facts - awkward. They jumped ship at the first opportunity for an “impromptu” visit to the National Zoo (likely story). We feigned interest in the Georgetown mall to escape our weirdo driver and happily waited for the next trolley.

Highlight of the day? You guessed it, lunch! We gorged at The Burger Joint in DuPont Circle, a poor man’s version of NYC’s Chelsea gayborhood. I’ve deduced that all the hot DC dudes are vampires, since none were on display in the afternoon sunlight. Oh well, we got our beefcake at lunch where I ordered a huge bacon cheeseburger and Trish ordered the lobster roll. To our surprise and delight, our order of roasted garlic fries came topped with (gasp!) whole, roasted garlic cloves. Perhaps further evidence to support my vampire theory, given the odoriferous sent emanating from our pores following our gorge-fest. Dinner was almost as memorable, with Trish and I ordering an array of gourmet hot dogs from room service, including one topped with blue crab. I know, sounds nasty, but everything tastes better topped with crab (or bacon, or cheese, or deep-fried!).

With Juan still out of commission Saturday night, Trish and I decided to check out the nightlife in DC’s current party spot, Adams Morgan. Conveniently located walking distance from our hotel, we followed the steady stream of tramps and preppies emerging from the nearby Metro station to Columbia Street, the hub of Adams Morgan. We found several blocks of back-to-back bars, cafes, restaurants and hookah joints populated by drunk skanks and douchie frat boys partying the night away, obviously looking to get laid. Heaven - if I were 15 years younger. Unfortunately, the median age of the revelers was well below my cut-off age. So Trish and I contented ourselves with people watching and scouting out likely restaurant choices for a daytime visit. On our trek back to the hotel, several bimbettes-in-training enlivened our trip with their attempt to walk the half-mile route slightly inebriated and in 3-inch stilettos. Girls, please, either practice at home or donate those fuck-me pumps to a pole dancer or homeless drag queen.

Since Juan spent all day Saturday recuperating, we decided to take a Sunday morning trip to the nearby National Zoo. Of course, we still had to get gramps a wheel chair since he couldn’t handle all the walking. As the older brother, I inherited the role of wheelchair custodian. Not too difficult a chore given that the zoo is built on the downward slope of a hill. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until reaching the bottom that we realized I would have to push all two-hundred-plus pounds of gimpy boy back up to the top, not a simple task in 100 degree plus weather. Oh well, at least we benefited from the wheel chair pity factor and easily pushed to the front of every exhibit.

After our zoo expedition, we treated ourselves to a long, relaxed lunch at Tryst, a trendy Adams Morgan bistro Trish and I spotted the night before. The vibe was very East Village and we wiled away most of the afternoon people watching and nibbling. That night, as has become our custom, instead of watching the fireworks live, we slipped into our PJ’s, ordered some pizza and wings and watched the concert and fireworks on TV. I know it seems lame, but lying in your underwear with a slice of pizza in an air-conditioned hotel room versus fighting sweaty crowds for a tiny plot of grass hours before the show? - seems like a no brainer to me.

Monday morning we loaded up at the hotel’s gourmet all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet before heading home. In a fun coincidence, are server was the waiter who served us at last year's BBQ buffet disaster!  We had a great laugh teasing him about it and he informed us the manager in charge of last year's fiasco was "no longer working here."  Oh well.  We thanked him again and told him we'd be seeing him next year.

Summer, Part 1 - Washington DC

The summer has dwindled away to only a few short weeks. Is September really just around the corner? Did I just see that Back-to-School display set up at the Duane Reade? What happened? Well, I guess I’ll just start babbling where I left off, just before the Pineda July 4th Weekend, and move forward until the post traumatic stress from camp kicks in and I start having fox hole flashbacks.

This July 4th, instead of getting drunk and passing out in the back yard as per usual, we decided to take a mini-vacation to Washington DC. Oh, wait. Let me backtrack a bit. We actually started our holiday weekend “In the Heights.” As a birthday/Anniversary gift for Juan and Val, Trish and I got tickets to the show. Val, of course, cried in all the right places. And even though we were exhausted from the opening weeks of Pineda Summer Conservatory, (forthwith to be referred to as “camp”) the salsa and meringue-infused score kept our blood pumping and eyes open. Unfortunately, it didn’t carry through to our planned all night drive to DC. By 4 am the mini-van was swerving and fishtailing all over I-95. We wisely decided to take a mandatory sleep break at a cheap hotel in Maryland and continued on later that morning.

The hotel, The Omni Shoreham, was movie-set gorgeous with white-gloved bellmen swarming the van as we pulled in. It was a total cliché but we were loving it. I only wish I had had a camera handy to capture their expressions as we popped the trunk. Instead of Luis Vuitton or Coach, these kind gentlemen were greeted by piles of music, discarded fast food containers and garbage bags full of clothes. With no time to pack, Trish had literally thrown her clean laundry directly from the dryer into garbage bags and into the trunk - luggage a la Hefty. Oh well, at least they’ll have a good story for the locker room.

The Omni Shoreham

The heat outside was almost unbearable for most of the weekend, but we did manage to hit several of the Smithsonian museums, pose outside the White House, laze around the pool, order excessive room service and get severely sunburned. So what did we learn from our little excursion to our nation’s capitol? Well, I’m glad you asked.

1. Museum holiday schedules do not make sense. On the weekend we celebrate the adoption of our Declaration of Independence, you are unable to view this venerable document because the National Archives is closed for the holiday.

2. People from Minnesota still refer to Asian-Americans as “Orientals.” After making friends with a group of band parents waiting for their kids to march down the parade route, one parent, obviously trying very hard to impress us with her worldliness said, “Our school is very diverse. We have a lot of different Orientals in our group - Filipinos, Chinese, and Koreans.” I’ll give her an “A” for effort.

3. Do not attend all-you-can-eat buffets the night of a Holiday. We were so excited for the hotel’s barbeque buffet. Who doesn’t love all-you-can-eat Kobe beef sliders and hot dogs, chicken, ribs, and mac n’ cheese? But it was clear the kitchen and front of house were severely understaffed due to the holidays. So after holding our reservation for nearly 45 minutes and then literally running out of food, we skipped out and headed to a local hang out for Sangria and middle eastern food.

4. Always complain nicely and graciously tip your server. Thanks to our calm and polite complaint to the manager (see #3), not only did he comp our meal, but he gave us vouchers for free buffet breakfast. Yum!

Breakfast in bed

5. Wear comfortable shoes because maps are totally misleading. Sure, a quarter inch doesn’t seem like much on a teensy-weensy map, but my how those inches add up. Because of the crowds and security fences blocking off most of the access into and out of the Great Mall, we hiked miles (literally) to find an open subway station. I estimated we walked approximately 6.5 miles in 90-plus degree heat.

6. Always carry lots of dollar bills. Sure, a life of luxury sure is fun, until you realize you have to pay for it. I haven’t passed out this many dollar bills since Cats closed - and I don’t mean the Broadway show. Oh, and if you have to ask, then you don’t need to know. Wink, wink.

And now more pictures!

Trish and I in front of Obama's crib

Me surprised at the port-o-potty's cleanliness

Me and Abe hangin'

Having fun by the reflecting pool

Glaring sun at the Lincoln Memorial

Coming up next, our second summer at the CDC…