The Perfect Anniversary Weekend

In the spring of 2006, during the days when neither of us had yet to achieve the covetous Monday-Friday, 9-5 career track that is all the rage, I found myself bored at home sitting in front of my desktop computer around 10:00AM some weekday morning while TJ was at work or in class, pondering Madonna's then upcoming Confessions tour and whether or not I could justify plopping down the cash for a couple of tickets to the Miami show.  When I clicked the link, I was advised that there were no tickets available.  Hmmph!  Casual ponderance turned to insatiable desire in the blink of an eye.  Now that I couldn't have the tickets that just moments before I wasn't even certain I wanted, I absolutely needed them.  Figuring that if Miami was sold out, surely the NYC tickets would be gone as well, I halfheartedly changed cities and clicked "Find Tickets."  Oh.  Oh, my.  They were available.  I hastily placed my order before better sense could prevail.  After I received my confirmation of purchase, I glanced at the clock.  It was now 10:02.  My mind flashed back to some forgotten knowledge that tickets would be going on sale at 10:00.  Knowing the answer, I checked Miami again anyway.  Yup.  Tickets were available.  Oops.  I called TJ shortly thereafter and we had a conversation that started vaguely like "Um, baby, you've always wanted to go to New York, riiiiggghhht?"  That July, we hopped on a plane to NYC and had a wonderful weekend filled with concerts (Confessions), on- and off-Broadway shows (Altar Boyz, Avenue Q, Mamma Mia!, Rent, The Wedding Singer), and your standard sightseeing walkabouts (5th Avenue, 30 Rockefeller Plaza, Central Park, FAO Schwarz, NBC Studio Tour, Times Square, etc).

Over the years we have consistently found ourselves returning to favorite vacation spots (Key West,

New Orleans, Paris, Puerto Vallarta) in lieu of exploring new ground.  Yet a return to New York, somehow, eluded us for years, even when our 2010 stay in northern Virginia put us within reasonable driving distance to the Big Apple.  Not this time.  With our 10th anniversary approaching, I knew the time was right for a return.

As our anniversary fell on a Wednesday and officers are not allowed to take time off of language training, we decided to spend our actual anniversary in a way we have often done so, by gorging ourselves at The Melting Pot.  It's not that fondue is necessarily expensive and therefore reserved for special occasions, but rather that it is very time consuming and therefore reserved for special occasions. (Alternatively, we also enjoy Texas de Brazil, which is not very time consuming because we are able to gorge ourselves in a 15 minute period...and therefore dangerous and also reserved for special occasions.)

Thanks to a Foreign Service colleague that was headed to NYC that weekend as well, we managed to score a free ride into the city, arriving around 4PM on Friday, July 12th.

After a quick shower and rest at the hotel, we were out in the city, doing a quick walk around Times Square (in the rain!  Gah!)  before having a quick dinner at the Hard Rock Cafe (I love it, but haters gonna hate.) and finally landing at the Nederlander Theatre to watch Newsies.  Of the three shows we had lined up for the weekend, this was the one TJ was least interested in but I just absolutely had to see.    The Nederlander Theater had been home to Rent, my all-time favorite show, during its twelve-year stint on Broadway.  I had managed to see Rent in this performance space twice during that period, both during our last trip here in 2006 as well as a 2002 Thanksgiving getaway with a college friend.  I was curious about any changes that had been made to the interiors, as well as whether or not the new tenants had maintained the same level of quality.  The interior was the same, right down to the positioning of the freestanding merchandise booths.  Even the stage design seemed similar, with giant metal frames used to set the mood of a disenfranchised New York neighborhood.  The cast itself did not disappoint either, and I ultimately walked out to the sounds of TJ admitting that this had been a good idea.

The following morning we paid our respects at The National September 11 Memorial.  Although the museum is not yet open, visitors are able to access the memorial proper, which features a pair of manmade waterfalls and reflecting pools placed within the footprints of the old World Trade Center.  Surrounding the pools are bronze plates featuring engravings of the names of every person that lost their lives in the 2001 and 1993 attacks on the WTC.  Stretching skyward in the adjacent lot is the still under construction One World Trade Center, the primary building of the new WTC complex.  I was amazed at how quiet the area surrounding the monument was.  Besides the occasional quiet mutterings of guests trying to maintain a respectful volume, the only sound to be heard was that of the waterfalls, crashing forever downward.  As we exited the monument area, we stopped to peruse the racks of brochures near the exit.  To our horror, yet sadly not to our surprise, we noticed that there were no Arabic pamphlets among the foreign language offerings.  Whether an intentional slight given America's horrific treatment of the Muslim community in the wake of 9/11 or an unfortunate oversight isn't for me to say.  It was merely an interesting observation.

The Brooklyn Bridge is conveniently located just a few blocks from the subway station that was to take us back to our hotel, so after noshing on a delicious slice of NY pizza, we crossed an odd little item off of my personal bucket list and walked across the bridge, which connects Manhattan and Brooklyn, separated by the East River.

There's not much to say about the experience, really.  It was hot.  It was a fairly long walk.  We saw two cyclists crash into each other at high speeds and then get into a shouting match that almost ended in physical violence.  Oh, and if for some reason you don't know how to walk across a bridge, here is an extensive article you may wish to read.  I didn't know of this article's existence prior to my travels, but I managed just fine.  

Something else that I didn't know about but which would have been adorable given the fact that this was an anniversary trip, was the trend of leaving love locks on the bridge.  I snapped this picture to remind myself to look up what the heck it was I was taking a picture of, and it turns out that people will write their name and the name of their loved one on a padlock, clip it to the bridge, and then throw the key into the river so that their hearts cannot be unlocked from their loved one.  It's a sweet sentiment, and apparently an idea that New Yorkers stole from the French, who had themselves stolen from an Italian novel, "Ho Viglia di Te."

In order to rehydrate from the whole sweaty bridge walk, we stopped in at an Irish pub in Times Square for a beer and some yummy potato skins before heading back to Broadway to catch Kinky Boots at The Al Hirschfeld Theatre.  We hadn't made the connection at the time, but this was the same venue that housed The Wedding Singer in 2006.  We had been enjoying our Broadway experience so much that hot July day that we opted to see this horrid adaptation of an Adam Sandler movie instead of witnessing the  NYC 4th of July fireworks celebration, a tragedy that has haunted us these past seven years.  No such fears this time around.  Kinky Boots was amazing.  We laughted.  We cried.  We saw Tony winner Billy Porter and understood what the fuss was all about.

After the show we skedaddled back to the hotel for a quick siesta before heading back out on the town. We had a quick dinner at Au Bon Pain, did a lighting fast walk by Rockefeller Center and Radio City Music Hall, and wound up at Eugene O'Neill Theatre, where we saw the best show of the trip, The Book of Mormon.  It was actually playing in DC during this time period, but hey, when in Rome...

After the show we headed to Therapy, a bar we had visited back in 2006 that was also celebrating it's 10th anniversary that weekend.  Awww.  It was fate.  While there we met up with Carlos, a friend of ours from Guadalajara that lives and works in NYC.  We apparently had a lot of fun that evening, as photos taken in Times Square at what must have been 3 or 4AM, judging by the empty streets, ended up on my iPad the following morning.

The next morning we set out for Central Park, but not before we stumbled upon FAO Schwarz and I remembered a promise unfulfilled.  For TJ's birthday in 2009, I had taken him to the newly opened "Jim Henson's Fantastic World," a touring museum exhibit which showcased original Muppets, sketches, and other tidbits that celebrated Henson's creative genius.  Afterwards I told him about a recent edition to FAO, The Muppet Whatnot Workshop, in which visitors could create their own personal Muppet.  There was an on-line ordering option that I had considered for his birthday gift, for TJ is a lifelong Muppet fan.  I told him that I had opted not to place an order, as I wasn't sure if he'd appreciate such a weird gift, but I had been wrong.  He said it would have been a perfect gift but did confess that he would prefer creating his own in person, and I promised him that one day we would return to NYC and he would have his chance.  When the store came into view, I shouted "OOH!  I wanted to go there!" and made a mad dash for the door.  I could tell by his disinterested "Ugh.  Okay" that he thought he was destined for 30-40 minutes of me looking at Lego and Batman toys, but bless him, he went along with it anyway.  I made a beeline for the back of the store, where I spun around and waited for him to catch up.  When he finally arrived I shot a thumb over my shoulder and asked, "You ready to make that Muppet?"  As he followed the trajectory of my thumb, his eyes filled with tears and he said "Yes!'

It took about twenty minutes to settle on a design and another hour for the workshop employees to turn that 2D design into a 3D Muppet.  We spent that hour strolling Central Park.  I could regale you with stories of how hot it was, and how at one point or another we both thought we were going to die of heat stroke, but let's just get back to that Muppet, for nothing is as adorable as this.

That marked the end of our weekend getaway.  By the time we picked up the Muppet, who has since been named Mikey Monster, it was time to gather up our luggage and head to the bus station.  It had been a perfect weekend, and we both agree it was one of our best trips to date.

There are some things I wish we had had time for, but I think they are all best saved for a longer trip during cooler weather.  I've still not been to the Statue of Liberty. I've not stood in line waiting for tickets to Letterman.  I want to one day ride the ferris wheel at the Times Square Toys R Us and buy chocolate at the Hershey store.  I want to see the Rockettes dance at Radio City Music Hall during the holiday season.  There's still a lot of Broadway to be seen.  Crazy as it sounds, I want to watch the ball drop, in person, on New Year's Eve.

Ten years strong with no sign of stopping.  I'm confident there will be other trips to New York.

I mean, we still need to lock our hearts up and throw the key in the river, right?

My Marriage Matters

Today was a monumental day in the history of the American gay rights movement.  Today, the Supreme Court of the United States let the world know that my marriage is just as important, just as legal, just as beautiful, as any heterosexual marriage.

Now that Section 3 of the horrific Defense of Marriage Act has been struck down in a 5-4 decision, I am eligible for 1,138 benefits, rights and protections that were previously denied to me.  A few are listed here.  Insane, right?  All of those things that most of you just take for granted, and here I am rejoicing at finally having access to them.

It was also a big day for California as Proprosition 8, a 2008 amendment to the California state constitution that limited the definition of marriage to those unions occurring between a man and a woman, was thrown out in its own 5-4 decision, bringing the total number of states that recognize marriage equality to thirteen (plus the District of Columbia)!  Thirty-seven to go!

Now, I could take this post in a couple of directions.  I could be sappy.  I could be preachy. I could be political or smug.  Instead, I just want you to know that, today, I am incredibly happy.  I would like to leave you with some of my favorite images from today's Facebook wall postings.

 George Takei quipped that this is what he saw 

when he logged into Facebook this morning.

My friend David, who was lucky enough to be inside when the opinions were read, 

made the front page over at Fox News.  

Wishful thinking on EVERYONE'S part...

And, finally, the most important images of the day:

This fight is far from over.  We will not stop fighting until gay marriage is legal in ALL 50 states.  You've been put on notice, America.  But today?  Today we will just rejoice.

Why I Don’t Speak Arabic

When we arrived in the Metro DC area waaaay back in February 2010, TJ was beginning his shiny new career as a U.S. Diplomat and I was wrapping mine up as a Quality Analyst for Express Scripts, Inc.  After begging and pleading for several months, I had convinced my bosses to allow me to telecommute, which I did for approximately six months before bowing out to study some Spanish in the last couple of months leading up to our arrival in Mexico.  The upside of being a diplomat’s significant other is that you get to travel the world and learn languages for free.  The downside is that, unlike the diplomat, you don’t get paid for that free language training.

Weighing the pros and cons, we had decided it was best for me to not take the full six month Spanish course and instead focus on paying down my credit card and saving up what I could, as at that time we weren’t certain what type of employment opportunities would be available in Mexico.   As it turned out, I paid off the credit card, saved next to nothing, and found work almost immediately at the consulate.  Everything worked out more or less as planned…except I didn’t speak much Spanish and that would prove to be a constant thorn in both of our sides for the next two years as we endeavored to grow a social circle beyond the realm of our new consulate family.  Lots of people spoke English.  Lots didn’t.  It made for some strained conversation.  I didn’t feel any more out of place than the other Eligible Family Members who had received positions at post, though…their Spanish wasn’t so hot, either. 

When we began bidding on our second assignment, we were both in agreement that I would take the full language course this time around.  We rolled out of Guadalajara in mid-October and arrived in Northern Virginia several days later, eager to begin nine months of coupled language training. 

Things began well enough.  We started off in a larger group of nine before eventually being broken off into smaller classes.  We found ourselves in a class with another couple that was headed to Kuwait.  Class was challenging but oh so rewarding when you had a good day.  I hated the teachers that made me study so much but loved the me that was learning such a hard language. 

Then in December our tenants of 2.5 years decided not to renew their lease and we discovered that  lots of repairs were needed before new tenants could move into our Orlando home.  Painting, carpet cleaning, lawn maintenance, pest control, yadda, yadda, yadda.  Suddenly, we found ourselves missing that dual income.    

Then I got the flu right before our January 9^th wedding.  I missed a full week of class.  When I returned, I had no idea what was going on and was suddenly dragging behind the pack.  I stuck it out for another month but never managed to get my groove back.  The house was still vacant.

Annoyed with my lack of progress, bitter because I’d rather have learned Hebrew anyway (try being a non-Hebrew speaking Jewish convert that moves to another country like, oh, say, Mexico where he can’t speak Spanish very well and then try to go to a synagogue.  Completely lost.), confident in the fact that many Israelis speak English, and not feeling the joy of the penny pinching that the empty house was causing, I made the decision to forego my Arabic studies and return to the workforce.  Within a week I had found a great position at Walter Reed National Military Medical Center.

Whether it was the best decision to make in terms of my Israeli social life, I can’t say yet.  I’ll let you know in a few months.  But it was definitely the right decision to make for our pocketbook.  The house remained vacant until mid-March.  The new tenants immediately proved themselves to be a bit…fussy is a nice word.  They wanted/needed several other repairs.

The roof leaked.  The mailbox disappeared.  The house was robbed and a window needed to be replaced.  The roof leaked again.  The washing machine had a leak.  It went on and on and on. 

It was not until mid-June that we received any sort of rental income, and it was only ½ of a normal month’s rent.  Five months without rental income.  That’s a huge chunk of change. 

I studied Arabic for a little over three months.  That was not a huge chunk of time as far as Arabic goes.  Had it been Spanish, I would have been halfway to the finish line.  With Arabic, that’s only 1/3 of the way.  I told myself I would do self study, but I didn’t.  Those characters mean nothing to me without the context provided by a classroom.  Sadly, I feel that it is very much a use-it-or-lose-it situation.  Here I sit on the backend of four months out of class and I find myself struggling to remember some of the stuff I’ve learned.  Maybe I’ll work on it in Israel.  Or perhaps I’ll take that Hebrew class I had wanted in the first place.  Maybe I’ll dabble in both.  Or maybe I’ll just write them both off and work to improve my Spanish, as we want to return to Latin America one day.     

Of course, I’m presently more concerned about what happens when my work contract ends in a couple of weeks and then the side of the house decides to fall off. 

Mika: An Intimate Evening

One of the first things I did in preparation for our return to the states was to check whether or not Mika was going to be on tour and if he would be passing through DC.  He was in fact on tour....he just wasn't coming to DC.  Sad face.  Then, something wonderful happened in February (possibly me just misreading the tour schedule before) and he WAS coming to DC after all!  Squee!  It was to be a limited engagement taking place at DC's Sixth & I Historic Synagogue.  Only 500 tickets were going to be available for the April 10th concert event that was being billed as "An Intimate Evening."  TJ and I camped out at our computers waiting for the on-sale time, and our efforts were rewarded handsomely.  (One perk of Judaism?  TJ had signed up for the synagogue's mailing list...the only bit of advertising that we ever saw for this show.)

An excruciatingly slow two months later we found ourselves standing in a line 100 people deep an hour before the doors were expected to open.  General Admission was the name of the game, and we didn't want to be stuck in the back row.  Wednesday was I guess what you could call the first real day of spring here in DC after an extended winter filled with ice, slush, snow and overall miserably cold days.  Unfortunately, it felt more like an oppressively hot summer day.  Wanting good seats but worrying about dying of heat stroke before making it past the front door if we camped out all day, we instead opted for a late lunch at the DC Hard Rock Cafe (one of my biggest guilty pleasures) followed by an afternoon basking in the shade of the DC Cherry Blossoms, which had just bloomed.

Arriving an hour ahead turned out to be pretty good timing, as the remaining 400 or so people arrived shortly thereafter.  I was still slightly concerned that we wouldn't get premium seating, but that was for naught.  When the doors opened, we happily plopped ourselves down in the fifth row.  Boredom during the time between sitting and the start of the show is always a concern, but that fear was abated following the discovery of the wine cart.  An easy breezy hour later we were enjoying the opening act, which consisted of two DJ's spinning short 10-15 second snippets of pop music from all periods....though Disney's "Kiss the Girl" got extended play when everyone began whooping and singing along.  Why, yes, it was a room full of gay men and their hags.  Why do you ask?

The opening act ended and I had just enough time to run to the restroom and refill our wine glasses (at the bar, not in the restroom, in case that needed clarification) before completely missing Mika's entrance, which TJ says came from the back of the room.  Sigh.  At least I didn't miss all of the opening song.  It truly was an intimate evening, the type of event that can only be experienced in a room as small as a synagogue's sanctuary.  We were sitting directly under the dome, which is prime real estate for getting the best sound, a fact that anyone who has heard the Voices of Liberty perform at EPCOT can attest to.  It was a pretty dome, to boot!

It was an evening of hits, featuring the best from all three of Mika's studio albums.

Set List
Grace Kelly
Toy Boy
Lollipop
Blue Eyes
Billy Brown
Popular Song
Love You When I'm Drunk
Underwater
Stuck in the Middle
Emily / Elle me dit
Big Girl (You are Beautiful)
Origin of Love
Happy Ending
Lola
Relax, Take it Easy
Stardust
Celebrate
Love Today
Over My Shoulder

I was quite pleased with the set list and can't really think of anything I'd have preferred hearing over what we got.  There were a number of evening highlights, told in both song and story, but the ones that I will never forget are as follows:

"Blue Eyes" is one of my favorite songs, because I am vain and have blue eyes and naturally think it is a song about me.  I was already smiling, but hearing him sing this song live brought a glimmer of a tear to my (blue) eyes that accompanied my smile for the remainder of the show.

Mika stumbled over the chorus to "Emily," a song that is sung in both English and French on the album The Origin of Love.  He shook his head and said "I always f--k that one up.  I want to sing in French when I should be singing in English.  Do you want me to sing in French?!?"  The crowed of course cheered their approval and he happily obliged.  He transitioned back into English for chorus, and when he called out "Dance with me Emily," every tukus in the house left its seat, never to return again.

He later explained to the crowd that he had been wanting to perform "The Origin of Love" in a place just like this since the moment he recorded it.  You'd really just have to listen to the song to understand why he was right, and why it was so special to hear in a house of worship.

Toward the end of "Happy Ending," he stepped away from the microphone and sang unplugged.  It

was met with great applause and I guess the acoustics in the synagogue were better than he had anticipated, for he sang "Lola" and "Stardust" in the same manner.  The silence from the crowd was a testament to the beauty of his voice, and we have confirmed with others that have attended prior shows that he does not do this as a normal part of the act.  I've never attended a concert in which the performer was able to connect with his audience so successfully at this level.    

In a moment that was to become the emotional crux of the concert, he introduced "Relax, Take it Easy" by explaining that it was inspired by the 2005 bombing of the  London train system.  He had been traveling on the tube at the time and his train was evacuated.  He said he wrote the song as a means of coming to terms with the tragedy.  It was horrifying to learn that a song I had thought to merely be a metaphor for a doomed relationship was actually a coping mechanism for a terrorist attack.  I turned to see tears streaming down TJs face, and I knew that we had both made the connection between this and the act of terrorism that had taken the life of his colleague in Afghanistan last Saturday. 

The songs that followed touched on themes such as love, loss and recovery.  If "Relax, Take it Easy" stirred feelings for a fallen peer, the remainder of the show definitely drew a line under our own mortality.

As we left the sanctuary, happier yet strangely more distressed than we had entered into it, TJ commented that this evening had the three ingredients to a perfect concert experience:  There was wine, we had great seats, and we knew all of the songs.  I would argue that there was also a fourth key ingredient:  the ability to create an emotional response.  And Mika did that in spades.

I may as well never see another concert again because, after Wednesday night, they will all be complete and utter disappointments.  

A Life Too Short

The State Department mourns the loss of one of its own today. Anne Smedinghoff joined the Foreign Service three years ago at the bright young age of 22. Her entire life was ahead of her.

She was in my husband's training class. They and their colleagues spent several months together studying languages and learning how to be diplomats so that they could spread to the four corners of the world and try to make this a better sphere on which to live. She died while trying to do just that.

I am sad to say that I only knew her in passing. This is truly my loss, as by all accounts she was a kind, brilliant, beautiful young woman.

My thoughts and prayers are with her family and friends this evening....and with all Foreign Service families that make great personal sacrifice that is so often misunderstood or unappreciated just to serve their country.

33, Part 3: Ringling Bros. and Barnum & Bailey: Dragons

We capped off my birthday weekend with a trip to the circus.  Yes, the circus.  Cuz that's how we roll.  It was a fun day.  Better than either of us had expected, which was amazing since TJ, assuming I like all things juvenile, suggested that we go even though he didn't want to, and I, not really wanting to go either but thinking that his suggesting it meant that HE wanted to go, said yes.

The name of the show was Dragons, and the theme was that different warring tribes have come together for a competition in which they must demonstrate Strength, Courage, Wisdom, and Heart in order to release the power of the dragon within.  Sounds like a rejected premise for Captain Planet and the Planeteers, but it really was a good setup for the circus acts that followed.

We bought the nosebleed tickets because, frankly, $65 a head seemed a tad excessive for ringside seating at a "regular" circus.   Maybe if it had been Cirque du Soleil.  Maybe.

In a much appreciated move, the doors opened an hour early for ticket holders to go ringside and view the human and animal performers up close.

We got to see an elephant paint a masterpiece and then play the harmonica...

We saw some kids learning to be Kung Fu masters...

And we got these awesome clown noses.

When the show began, we grabbed our Kleenex (for the nosebleeds) and headed up top.  Picture quality diminished, but hey, what can ya do?

Spoiler Alert:  At the show's conclusion, The Planeteers succeeded in releasing the dragon. *gasp!*

All in all, it was a wonderful conclusion to a wonderful birthday weekend.  I'd do it all again in a heartbeat.  Only, can I skip the aging part next time?  No need to rush things.

Snow Buddies 2: The Sequel

***We interrupt this important birthday blogging event to bring you 

a special report on weather in the Washington, D.C. area.***

When we first moved to Falls Church in February 2010, I found myself telecommuting back to my old job in Orlando and feeling very lonely and fish-out-of-watery while TJ spent his days learning Spanish and hobnobbing with diplomats at the Foreign Service Institute.  One of my coping mechanisms was to build a snowman named Bernard on our balcony.  He kept me company as I worked (or, more accurately, pretended to work).  He eventually died. It was sad.

He was a good snowman. Not too big, not too small.  Never one to put on airs, yet always stylish, he had a dapper dish towel for a scarf.  I always promised that, if I were to find myself back in the D.C. area for winter, I would bring him back to life, all Frosty Returns style.

To my immense joy, we arrived in October, just before prime snowman season began. Sadly, anticipation for Bernard's return diminished quickly as the winter months passed without much snow.  Imagine my surprise when, just days after the start of the spring season, the Metro D.C. area was bombarded with snow.

I returned from work this afternoon (Yes.  The Office of Personnel Management, which likes to cancel work at the drop of a hat if the weatherman even hints at snow, failed to call it a snow day when there was actually white stuff on the ground) and quickly surveyed my surroundings.  There was no balcony snow.  This wasn't good, as I don't trust ground snow. I mean, I have two dogs.  I know what happens on the ground.  Taking stock of the situation, I noticed a large concentration of accumulation on  the stair railings.  Emptying my insulated lunch bag of its tupperware and utensils, I quickly filled it to capacity with rail snow and scurried up the stairs to create life.

The results were dazzling.

He was magnificent....and yet, I noticed immediately that he had begun to piddle on the pavement.  It simply wasn't cold enough to keep him alive.  Not so easily defeated, I concocted a counter maneuver.  Mother Nature ain't got nuthin' on me.

When TJ returned form work this afternoon, I threw open the freezer door in triumph.  He stared for a moment and then let out a raucous laugh.  I think he was pleased.  He knows how much I enjoyed Bernard's company, and I think he was happy to see him again as well.

Of course, I don't think he knows that Bernard has moved in permanently.  We will deal with that tomorrow.