When I wrote this post just after the semester ended, life was good. I was looking forward to the spring and summer, I thought I'd go out and about and explore new neighbourhoods and eating areas, I planned to see exhibitions and haunt museums and people watch in different parts of the city.
Then I was sick. Now that I'm recovered from the Dreaded Viruses of 2010 (I hope I'm not jinxing this by saying I'm recovered. Almost recovered would probably be the correct term anyway since my legs still insist that they might be spaghetti every once in a while), I realise my plans for the summer would never have happened anyway. Why? yous ask. Let me list a few reasons:
1. I'm lazy. The idea of leaving a nice, air-conditioned area to faff around downtown in the midst of tourists, interns, everyday DCites does not appeal. Even on regular days I do my usual university-home-(maybe) football pub area and do not venture beyond that. I don't really ride the Metro. Which brings me to:
2. I took the metro downtown to go see this exhibit (exhibit very much recommended; the hassle to getting there, walking across the Mall, avoiding groups of tourists while trying to read the delightful writings on the photographs = takes away from the joy of the show. I went in the middle of a day and it was still mental getting there and back). But, yes, metro. Since I rarely ride it these days, I hadn't realised that there's hardly a seat, people don't really move to the centre of the train and the door closings are (well at least on that trip I took) getting more and more unpredictable. One trip downtown and I felt that was all I could handle for the summer. Then,
3. The weather: except for today, the past week has been the sort of weather that an egg could be fried on the sidewalk (I tried experimenting on our back alley last week but the egg was half cooked, not fried. It was getting there though and with a more focused sun energy, I'd have had poached egg). Again, if your house has a computer with internet and you have piles of work to do, you'd rather just do that than gallivant across town in this blasted heat. Despite having spent my formative years in Thailand (hot), I am not a fan of hot weather. But,
4. My goal of watching all the World Cup matches still remains. However, ideally, I'd just watch the matches at home. But my TV only has terrestrial channels so no luck there. This means finding a nice pub (and this is where I'll regret not going to Berkeley for the summer since my residence hall in Berkeley was right next to this restaurant/pub that showed football all the time and had good food and company). So far, I've not really thought about where to watch--ideally, this would be somewhere near my home, walking distance would be ideal but there's no place with TV/football/pub-like setting near where I live. I'll have to think about this for the next few days. Well...
5. Back to finishing up the article on the production of the British counterterrorist state identity during Bloody Sunday. No one said work wasn't fun.
somewhere along this post, it shifted from why I have not done what I said I'd do to what I am doing/still planning on doing. I realise that but can't really be bothered to change things around. Ah well.
4.6.10
Just another summer morning
I was lounging in bed at around 7am today when I suddenly heard my name being called. At first I thought this was all part of a dream in which I am given unlimited funding to do research and never have to actually work (or teach) again. Sadly that was not the case. Instead it was my landlady and, once again, she called out Priyaaaaaa! Help! I need help!
Finding my glasses took a while but once those were on as were the slippers, I rushed down only to find my elderly landlady all a quiver. While 18th century ladies would probably be that way when a suitably attired young man happened to walk by, this was not the 18th century. In a shaking voice, I was informed that one of the dogs had committed a "truly gruesome act" and could I help. Help in the sense of getting rid of the evidence and covering up the atrocity, that is.
It turned out that there was a dead body and the dead body in question was that of a cute, grey kitten. The story was as follows: as their human let them loose in the front yard, two of the dogs had seen a kitten and its mum. By the time their human turned around, the kitten was being attacked by two dogs and the mum had scarpered.
By the time I got there, the kitten was dead and one of the dogs was happily tearing at its fur. I had to try bribe him away (didn't work since why on earth would he give up a thing he had just killed?) and, failing that, I forcibly dragged the blasted dog off the kitten. Then, the kitten's body was unceremoniously dumped at the neighbouring apartment building's dumpster. The dogs, by this time convinced that killing a kitten was possibly not a good thing, went indoors.
All in a morning's work up here in NW DC.
Finding my glasses took a while but once those were on as were the slippers, I rushed down only to find my elderly landlady all a quiver. While 18th century ladies would probably be that way when a suitably attired young man happened to walk by, this was not the 18th century. In a shaking voice, I was informed that one of the dogs had committed a "truly gruesome act" and could I help. Help in the sense of getting rid of the evidence and covering up the atrocity, that is.
It turned out that there was a dead body and the dead body in question was that of a cute, grey kitten. The story was as follows: as their human let them loose in the front yard, two of the dogs had seen a kitten and its mum. By the time their human turned around, the kitten was being attacked by two dogs and the mum had scarpered.
By the time I got there, the kitten was dead and one of the dogs was happily tearing at its fur. I had to try bribe him away (didn't work since why on earth would he give up a thing he had just killed?) and, failing that, I forcibly dragged the blasted dog off the kitten. Then, the kitten's body was unceremoniously dumped at the neighbouring apartment building's dumpster. The dogs, by this time convinced that killing a kitten was possibly not a good thing, went indoors.
All in a morning's work up here in NW DC.
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