Thrift and Reward Evaluation
Saturday I lost my mind at church bazaars and thrift shops, returning home with, among other items:
One dry clean only vest
The obligatory black desk lamp (note to ashcomp: it does work!)
One folding side table turned laptop stand
A Kodak Retina 1b (little b)
The tchotchke change-bank, Mr. Soccerhead, which would be more appropriate in a soccer-mad eight year old's room.
The desk lamp was on purpose. Everything else sort of happened. The Kodak was a classic example of why I shouldn't be allowed to impulse shop; however, I now have a working camera. And in a worst case scenario, I can ebay it without loss.
I also ate an open-faced sandwich, a danish, and half of an apple dish topped with whipped cream, and had to stop when the dairy vs lactase GI battle started. It's getting to the point that I want to spit out anything that tastes like dairy, even when I'm not on antibiotics, and I'm thinking that's not a bad reflex.
Friday evening I saw Amy Ray perform at the 9:30 Club. I mentioned my plans to my roommate Friday morning and she elected to come with me. We met up at Busboys and Poets, and grabbed dinner at Ben's Chili Bowl, which wins for adding the Obamas to the list of people who eat free at the restaurant (previously: Bill Cosby and.... Bill Cosby) and delivered to us M.'s burger and french fries just out of the deep fryer, still crispy on the outside and hot on the soft inside. They needed salt, which I added along with pepper, but were awesome otherwise. I had gotten out of work later than expected, so we missed the opening act, but got there in time for the main act sound check and milling around. M. had no clue who Amy Ray is, or who Indigo Girls are, so the small but enthusiastic crowd of obviously non-straight people was a bit of a surprise. However, she really enjoyed the set list; as M. remarked, Amy Ray sounds a lot like protest songs, of which M. would be an excellent judge.
Herself and the band came on to cheers. This is not a woman given to intraset chatter: it's pretty much, "thanks, y'all", a stab at retuning the guitar, and on to the next song. Ray played a bunch of her solo songs, including Let It Ring and Johnny Rottentale, which caught my attention for being performed on mandolin.
This was totally my crowd: doors were at 6 PM, and we were kicked out at nine; wearing Office Chic (no-heels boots and skirt, plummy button-up shirt) I was overdressed. So M. and I had plenty of time to walk back to the red line by way of Busboys and Poets and Adams Morgan. B&P was packed with humanity, and is so left-leaning it's about to fall into self-parody, but it seems to welcome browsers. Adams Morgan was just packed: fun to visit, but I'd probably snap if I lived in any proximity to that many night owls. I tend to forget that DC is tiny, so walking "off" the green line and back to red is not only possible but more fun than messing with transfers.
Also, about 10,000 bills hit last week, so I'm really looking forward to payday. A lot.
One dry clean only vest
The obligatory black desk lamp (note to ashcomp: it does work!)
One folding side table turned laptop stand
A Kodak Retina 1b (little b)
The tchotchke change-bank, Mr. Soccerhead, which would be more appropriate in a soccer-mad eight year old's room.
The desk lamp was on purpose. Everything else sort of happened. The Kodak was a classic example of why I shouldn't be allowed to impulse shop; however, I now have a working camera. And in a worst case scenario, I can ebay it without loss.
I also ate an open-faced sandwich, a danish, and half of an apple dish topped with whipped cream, and had to stop when the dairy vs lactase GI battle started. It's getting to the point that I want to spit out anything that tastes like dairy, even when I'm not on antibiotics, and I'm thinking that's not a bad reflex.
Friday evening I saw Amy Ray perform at the 9:30 Club. I mentioned my plans to my roommate Friday morning and she elected to come with me. We met up at Busboys and Poets, and grabbed dinner at Ben's Chili Bowl, which wins for adding the Obamas to the list of people who eat free at the restaurant (previously: Bill Cosby and.... Bill Cosby) and delivered to us M.'s burger and french fries just out of the deep fryer, still crispy on the outside and hot on the soft inside. They needed salt, which I added along with pepper, but were awesome otherwise. I had gotten out of work later than expected, so we missed the opening act, but got there in time for the main act sound check and milling around. M. had no clue who Amy Ray is, or who Indigo Girls are, so the small but enthusiastic crowd of obviously non-straight people was a bit of a surprise. However, she really enjoyed the set list; as M. remarked, Amy Ray sounds a lot like protest songs, of which M. would be an excellent judge.
Herself and the band came on to cheers. This is not a woman given to intraset chatter: it's pretty much, "thanks, y'all", a stab at retuning the guitar, and on to the next song. Ray played a bunch of her solo songs, including Let It Ring and Johnny Rottentale, which caught my attention for being performed on mandolin.
This was totally my crowd: doors were at 6 PM, and we were kicked out at nine; wearing Office Chic (no-heels boots and skirt, plummy button-up shirt) I was overdressed. So M. and I had plenty of time to walk back to the red line by way of Busboys and Poets and Adams Morgan. B&P was packed with humanity, and is so left-leaning it's about to fall into self-parody, but it seems to welcome browsers. Adams Morgan was just packed: fun to visit, but I'd probably snap if I lived in any proximity to that many night owls. I tend to forget that DC is tiny, so walking "off" the green line and back to red is not only possible but more fun than messing with transfers.
Also, about 10,000 bills hit last week, so I'm really looking forward to payday. A lot.