Reversus Sum
Huzzah! I'm back from Virginia. I'm glad it was on the shorter side, and we didn't stay for an extra night.
Tuesday
We left on Tuesday around eight o'clock. It's a calculated nine-hour drive from Columbus to Williamsburg, VA (going an average speed of 85 mph because southern drivers are awesome like that), so there was massive boredom afoot. I ran most of the juice out of my mp3 player on the way down, so I resorted to beginning my research for the economics paper on free-trade philosophy. Trying to read in the car is a very bad thing for me to do, as I always rediscover whenever I attempt it. I was carsick for the rest of the way down.
My parents reserved a Holiday Inn for us to stay in for three days (although they really wanted to stay a fourth night but didn't bother trying to find someplace to say in for it). They managed to get two rooms, one for themselves and another for me and Matt. We arrived at some point in the evening, allowing Matt not to miss a single moment of his new favourite MTV show "Yo Mamma" (sp?). That show = half of my brain, dead. The jokes are entirely not funny; the ones that are, I've heard too many times before. In speaking of MTV, Matt forced me through a lot of trashy television, more than I care to mention here.
We ordered pizza, and Matt and I watched some creepy Comedy Central show about a vantriloquist who rapes his puppets. Fun. I could only stand about an hour of that show, so I clicked off the television and was about to discover how terrible the mattresses were when I woke up then next morning.
Wednesday
I didn't sleep through most of the night because my back was seriously hurting me. I also limped a bit, which I never before associated to sleeping in my customary fetal position. Being that this was "vacation," Mum naturally took over and wanted to act as arbitrator/general-evil-schedule-lady the entire time, angering my dad who was already in a bad mood throughout most of the trip for one reason or another. Mother decided that we should visit Colonial Williamsburg (which happened to be the site of my eighth grade trip) on that day, much to the chagrin of my posture at that point.
We all awoke (or rather, Mum and Dad awoke; Matthew MTV-ed me to consciousness) ~9:00 to hop in the car for Williamsburg. Dad and Matthew were infuriated with the queue line for obtaining a pass into the place, I was sleepy because it was only 9:30 at that point, and Mum was in full-out tourist mode. I could have slept on the linoleum floor, but there was nothing that didn't catch my mum's eye. Her enthusiasm perturbed me greatly; there should only be so much energy in the morning.
The first thing I noticed when entering the historic part of Williamsburg was the fact that there were magnolia trees absolutely everywhere (which made me think of Jessi), though not in bloom. The second thing I noticed was that I was being whined at from everyone about wanting to go to lunch. It was 11:30 (read: eleven-friggin-thirty), who wants lunch then? Not I, certainly. But Dad whined the loudest, so the debate was over. Having eaten, Dad and Matt wanted to return home, but the hundredsomething dollars it took to get into Williamsburg dictated that we visit a few places before leaving.
As I suspected, historical attractions are far more interesting when you actually go into the exhibits. Colonial Williamsburg is a renovated version of the original buildings that stood there, each building typically housing some other trade of that time period about which tourists are able to learn. Once we started going in the buildings, I wasn't so terribly bored, though my feet hurt a bit by that point.
That evening we went out to Outback Steakhouse, which is not exactly vegetarian-friendly. I tried to read my economics book, but Mum informed me that it was rude and disarmed me of my book. I discovered that the Outback is also the home of really good garlic pasta.
No sleep.
Thursday
Thursday was the appointed day for the visit to the College of William and Mary. William and Mary was absolutely beautiful. The campus looked very old and rustic-as I suppose it should, it being the second oldest college in the nation next to Harvard. My tour guide, Ryan, was sure to note their "blue light security system." Always in sight is a blue light, which you are able to activate in order to signal the campus police to come and find you. In the event that you are being chased down, you can run from one light to another, activating them in sequence, allowing the police to guess your next point and rendezvous with you there to ensure your safety. Wow... that makes me feel at ease. I don't want to be chased...
William and Mary is still a very prestigious school, notwithstanding any minor issues where the police had to commit a daring rescue to save a fleeing student from a serial killer or something. I'm considering it next to St. John's. After the William and Mary tour, we were trying to decide on a decent place ot have lunch, and by "we... decide" I actually mean "my mum and dad were holding a rather unproductive and noisy bickering contest." I probably spent ten minutes or so watching them at it, at which point I got rather angry (which almost never happens) and said something along the lines of "Well, while you're going-and have been going-apeshit for some time now, I think I'll mosey on over the twenty-two paces to this cafe to get myself a sandwich." They didn't take too kindly to that. Apparently I'm not allowed to say things.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in my hotel room where I worked on "The Comedor," which is this epic poem/allegory I'm writing. I didn't get much done. I watched several consecutive episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and fell over onto my treacherous bed, where I sat for some time cuddling with my pillows. I'm pathetic.
It was really starting to bug me how we bothered to pack the car in such a precise manner so as to allow proper storage space for all this food we brought with us, yet we went out to eat for all our meals. Personally, I'm fine with bananas and granola. That's my soul food. Yet I was dragged along to a swanky seafood restaurant. The restaurant was completely owned and operated by people who spoke no English. It would have been fine if they were Mexican, for then we could at least attempt Spanish; but no, they had to be Turkish. My dad uttered some xenophobic nothings under his breath. Mum was trying to calm Dad down; Matthew was trying to calm Mum down; I was eating a roll at the time.
Friday
Prior days in the hotel, I had managed to slip on instant messenger a few times in order to keep myself sane. Emily was talking about a drive-in movie, which I set as a completely unreasonable rationale to keep myself living. I figured if I could just imagine being home by 7:00... But no chance of that, nosiree. We got checked-out of the hotel sometime around 10:00 am (and with the calculated nine-hour driving time that didn't include rest-stops and whatnot, things were not looking good). It was drizzling outside as we packed the car, so everyone was naturally irritable-even more than usual.
We finally managed to get driving along when Mum noticed a particularly delectible Yankee Candle Outlet Store to ravage. Yankee Candle stores definitely tailour to the early-mobile-home tastes. I found a cappuccino-scented candle I thought might do well in my room, but no one trusts me with a little fire. After awhile, I realised that the store we were in was more than just the typical Yankee Candle (an odd name, even if part of a chain, for a store in Virginia). The store was its own mall, complete with cafe. It had several sections: the main store, a "home department," a "holiday department," another "home department," and then a large hall in the centre-adorned majestically with a hokey cuckoo clock that featured a polar bear popping out of the face and putting on a skit with his friends, a bird and some strange unidentifiable mammal. We lost a little time in there, but things still looked like the might work out.
Then we got to the Prime Outlet mall.
Mum must have visited every shoe store there, spending no less than forty or so minutes in each. Matthew was kept quiet with going to the Vans store as well as some chocolate cluster mum got him at the fudge place. I sat on a lawn chair display at L.L. Bean and pretended not to be about to tear my hair out. When we finally got back inside the car, the parents were completely aghast at what time it was (sometime around 3:00). Where did all that time go? I have no idea.
As we started to drive back in the general direction of Ohio along Rt. 64, Dad was muttering something about staying an extra night in the hills. Dad's family is from the hills of Kentucky; they were hillbillies. I don't have anything against hillbillies, much less nature, but let me tell you something: I am the hillbilly antithesis. I like my cleanliness. I like my electricity. Am I so wrong? Furthermore, if I had to spend another day in a hotel, I would most certainly perish. During the trip back, I tried to lessen any bickering of the parents with my mp3 player, which was blazing a gallimaufry of Rasputina, Scissor Sisters, And One, Lhasa, The Decemberists, and Totoro. My music is slim at best. Totoro doesn't count because he's timeless and without bounds.
Saturday
I'm sitting here on this wicker chair writing all this, missing everyone a lot. I managed to slip a few words to one or two people on the rare minutes I had on the hotel computer, but for everyone else-we should do something sometime. Spring break is almost over, and I don't want to waste it. Short notice, I know, but gah.
End of story.
Tuesday
We left on Tuesday around eight o'clock. It's a calculated nine-hour drive from Columbus to Williamsburg, VA (going an average speed of 85 mph because southern drivers are awesome like that), so there was massive boredom afoot. I ran most of the juice out of my mp3 player on the way down, so I resorted to beginning my research for the economics paper on free-trade philosophy. Trying to read in the car is a very bad thing for me to do, as I always rediscover whenever I attempt it. I was carsick for the rest of the way down.
My parents reserved a Holiday Inn for us to stay in for three days (although they really wanted to stay a fourth night but didn't bother trying to find someplace to say in for it). They managed to get two rooms, one for themselves and another for me and Matt. We arrived at some point in the evening, allowing Matt not to miss a single moment of his new favourite MTV show "Yo Mamma" (sp?). That show = half of my brain, dead. The jokes are entirely not funny; the ones that are, I've heard too many times before. In speaking of MTV, Matt forced me through a lot of trashy television, more than I care to mention here.
We ordered pizza, and Matt and I watched some creepy Comedy Central show about a vantriloquist who rapes his puppets. Fun. I could only stand about an hour of that show, so I clicked off the television and was about to discover how terrible the mattresses were when I woke up then next morning.
Wednesday
I didn't sleep through most of the night because my back was seriously hurting me. I also limped a bit, which I never before associated to sleeping in my customary fetal position. Being that this was "vacation," Mum naturally took over and wanted to act as arbitrator/general-evil-schedule-lady the entire time, angering my dad who was already in a bad mood throughout most of the trip for one reason or another. Mother decided that we should visit Colonial Williamsburg (which happened to be the site of my eighth grade trip) on that day, much to the chagrin of my posture at that point.
We all awoke (or rather, Mum and Dad awoke; Matthew MTV-ed me to consciousness) ~9:00 to hop in the car for Williamsburg. Dad and Matthew were infuriated with the queue line for obtaining a pass into the place, I was sleepy because it was only 9:30 at that point, and Mum was in full-out tourist mode. I could have slept on the linoleum floor, but there was nothing that didn't catch my mum's eye. Her enthusiasm perturbed me greatly; there should only be so much energy in the morning.
The first thing I noticed when entering the historic part of Williamsburg was the fact that there were magnolia trees absolutely everywhere (which made me think of Jessi), though not in bloom. The second thing I noticed was that I was being whined at from everyone about wanting to go to lunch. It was 11:30 (read: eleven-friggin-thirty), who wants lunch then? Not I, certainly. But Dad whined the loudest, so the debate was over. Having eaten, Dad and Matt wanted to return home, but the hundredsomething dollars it took to get into Williamsburg dictated that we visit a few places before leaving.
As I suspected, historical attractions are far more interesting when you actually go into the exhibits. Colonial Williamsburg is a renovated version of the original buildings that stood there, each building typically housing some other trade of that time period about which tourists are able to learn. Once we started going in the buildings, I wasn't so terribly bored, though my feet hurt a bit by that point.
That evening we went out to Outback Steakhouse, which is not exactly vegetarian-friendly. I tried to read my economics book, but Mum informed me that it was rude and disarmed me of my book. I discovered that the Outback is also the home of really good garlic pasta.
No sleep.
Thursday
Thursday was the appointed day for the visit to the College of William and Mary. William and Mary was absolutely beautiful. The campus looked very old and rustic-as I suppose it should, it being the second oldest college in the nation next to Harvard. My tour guide, Ryan, was sure to note their "blue light security system." Always in sight is a blue light, which you are able to activate in order to signal the campus police to come and find you. In the event that you are being chased down, you can run from one light to another, activating them in sequence, allowing the police to guess your next point and rendezvous with you there to ensure your safety. Wow... that makes me feel at ease. I don't want to be chased...
William and Mary is still a very prestigious school, notwithstanding any minor issues where the police had to commit a daring rescue to save a fleeing student from a serial killer or something. I'm considering it next to St. John's. After the William and Mary tour, we were trying to decide on a decent place ot have lunch, and by "we... decide" I actually mean "my mum and dad were holding a rather unproductive and noisy bickering contest." I probably spent ten minutes or so watching them at it, at which point I got rather angry (which almost never happens) and said something along the lines of "Well, while you're going-and have been going-apeshit for some time now, I think I'll mosey on over the twenty-two paces to this cafe to get myself a sandwich." They didn't take too kindly to that. Apparently I'm not allowed to say things.
The rest of the afternoon was spent in my hotel room where I worked on "The Comedor," which is this epic poem/allegory I'm writing. I didn't get much done. I watched several consecutive episodes of "Everybody Loves Raymond" and fell over onto my treacherous bed, where I sat for some time cuddling with my pillows. I'm pathetic.
It was really starting to bug me how we bothered to pack the car in such a precise manner so as to allow proper storage space for all this food we brought with us, yet we went out to eat for all our meals. Personally, I'm fine with bananas and granola. That's my soul food. Yet I was dragged along to a swanky seafood restaurant. The restaurant was completely owned and operated by people who spoke no English. It would have been fine if they were Mexican, for then we could at least attempt Spanish; but no, they had to be Turkish. My dad uttered some xenophobic nothings under his breath. Mum was trying to calm Dad down; Matthew was trying to calm Mum down; I was eating a roll at the time.
Friday
Prior days in the hotel, I had managed to slip on instant messenger a few times in order to keep myself sane. Emily was talking about a drive-in movie, which I set as a completely unreasonable rationale to keep myself living. I figured if I could just imagine being home by 7:00... But no chance of that, nosiree. We got checked-out of the hotel sometime around 10:00 am (and with the calculated nine-hour driving time that didn't include rest-stops and whatnot, things were not looking good). It was drizzling outside as we packed the car, so everyone was naturally irritable-even more than usual.
We finally managed to get driving along when Mum noticed a particularly delectible Yankee Candle Outlet Store to ravage. Yankee Candle stores definitely tailour to the early-mobile-home tastes. I found a cappuccino-scented candle I thought might do well in my room, but no one trusts me with a little fire. After awhile, I realised that the store we were in was more than just the typical Yankee Candle (an odd name, even if part of a chain, for a store in Virginia). The store was its own mall, complete with cafe. It had several sections: the main store, a "home department," a "holiday department," another "home department," and then a large hall in the centre-adorned majestically with a hokey cuckoo clock that featured a polar bear popping out of the face and putting on a skit with his friends, a bird and some strange unidentifiable mammal. We lost a little time in there, but things still looked like the might work out.
Then we got to the Prime Outlet mall.
Mum must have visited every shoe store there, spending no less than forty or so minutes in each. Matthew was kept quiet with going to the Vans store as well as some chocolate cluster mum got him at the fudge place. I sat on a lawn chair display at L.L. Bean and pretended not to be about to tear my hair out. When we finally got back inside the car, the parents were completely aghast at what time it was (sometime around 3:00). Where did all that time go? I have no idea.
As we started to drive back in the general direction of Ohio along Rt. 64, Dad was muttering something about staying an extra night in the hills. Dad's family is from the hills of Kentucky; they were hillbillies. I don't have anything against hillbillies, much less nature, but let me tell you something: I am the hillbilly antithesis. I like my cleanliness. I like my electricity. Am I so wrong? Furthermore, if I had to spend another day in a hotel, I would most certainly perish. During the trip back, I tried to lessen any bickering of the parents with my mp3 player, which was blazing a gallimaufry of Rasputina, Scissor Sisters, And One, Lhasa, The Decemberists, and Totoro. My music is slim at best. Totoro doesn't count because he's timeless and without bounds.
Saturday
I'm sitting here on this wicker chair writing all this, missing everyone a lot. I managed to slip a few words to one or two people on the rare minutes I had on the hotel computer, but for everyone else-we should do something sometime. Spring break is almost over, and I don't want to waste it. Short notice, I know, but gah.
End of story.