Gallaudet University

In DC BB and I stayed at a hotel on the campus of Gallaudet University. I had never heard of Gallaudet University and had no idea what to expect. It became apparent quite quickly that Gallaudet is a school for the deaf. This was given away by the fact that more people were signing to each other than talking when we checked in. I was both surprised and a bit intimidated at first. I was the unofficial translator for a deaf colleague when I was in graduate school but she exclusively read lips so even though I have extensive experience (or at least 3 years with her) attempting to understand speech from the deaf, I know no sign language. This is one of those times, like when someone that is clearly in need is speaking to me in Spanish, when my ineptitudes become embarrassingly apparent. I know no other language. I’m barely adequate in English (as becomes painfully clear when I hang out with Anna). This didn’t trouble me when I was younger but now I feel foolish because of it.
But anyway, back to my story. It turns out that I need not have been concerned. Our stay at Gallaudet was excellent. We had a comfortable room, extremely friendly service, and a superb breakfast at no extra charge. The breakfast buffet at the hotel in Philadelphia was $16.95 per person and there was simply no way that it was better than the free buffet at Gallaudet. I hesitate to even call it a buffet because the food was so carefully prepared and presented. Anyway it was great.
The other part of our experience there that was cool was the shuttle. The college was not close to a metro station so they ran a shuttle service to two of the more distant campus buildings and the two nearest metro stops. The shuttle service consisted of two buses that ran from 6:47am until 9:45pm, more or less continuously. They had a schedule of when each bus would be where and it was correct. By correct, I mean that in two days it was never once even one minute late anytime we noticed. We missed it one morning when we showed up between 6:48 and 6:49am; and we caught it one night by ending our cross-town trek by racing out of Union Station at 9:43pm desperately hoping that the Gallaudet bus would still be there. It was and we left with it two minutes later.


Get the Hell Outta the Way

I’m gonna need to rant for just a moment. I hate baseball vendors. You know, the ones that wander the aisles at ballgames yelling “craaaaackajaaaacks!!” and “Bud Light herrrr-a! Get yer Bud Light herrr-a”. I hate them. I used to dislike them enough that it was just barely hate. Now there is no question that hate is the word. There are lots of annoying things about them. They’re loud (which is hateful). They’re ever-present (also hateful). And they’re always in my GO%D&#N way when I’m trying to watch the game. I know they’re a part of baseball tradition. So are drunk men screaming obscenities while nearby Dad’s are trying to explain the game to young sons and daughters. Just because it’s a typical part of a ballgame doesn’t mean they shouldn’t all be taken out and stoned. God forbid that a guy should get off his (usually too big) behind and go get his own hot dog. I know that seems like a lot of work to climb all those stairs and walk the 50 feet to the nearest kiosk selling atherosclerosis on a bun, especially when screaming obscenities at the left fielder is more fun, but really. We seem to survive the ordeal of the movie theater without roaming vendors. The average moviegoer realizes that they’re gonna need to either: plan ahead, or survive 2 hours without supplemental nutrition, or miss some of the film. Somehow, miraculously, it works. Can you imagine the movie theater with baseball style vendors:

[Andy]: Dear Red, If you’re reading this, you’ve gotten out. And if you’ve . . .

(vendor): “Craaaaackajaaaaacks!!”

[Andy]: . . . come this far, maybe you’re willing to come a little further. You remember the name of the town, don’t you? I could use a good man to help me get my project on wheels. I'll keep an eye out for you and the chessboard ready. Remember, Red. Hope is a good . . .

(vendor): “Bud Light herr-a! Last Call for Bud Light herrr-a!!!”

[Andy]: . . . thing, maybe the best of things and no good thing ever dies. I will be hoping that this letter finds you, and finds you well. Your friend, Andy



Maine

I’ve decided I don’t particularly care for the east coast. I’ve also decided that Charlottesville, WV and Maine aren’t part of the east coast. I only saw the former very briefly but liked it almost immediately. I spent considerably more time in the latter and liked it a great deal. It helps that Anna and Len are superb hosts and have a very nice house. I think, though, that I also just like Maine. The landscape was sweet. The people were friendly enough and the towns just seemed like the sort of places that a normal sort of chap like me could live. I wasn’t 100% convinced that Maine would meet my requirement (for places I might consider living) of having an adequate growing season for great local veggies to be available for much of the year. I’m still not sold but it didn’t hurt that A& L took us to this awesome organic family farm/store. The place seems to be run by several generations of an extended family. They have goats and sheep and cows and pigs and chickens and, perhaps, other meaty beasties that I didn’t see. They grew all kinds of flowers and veggies as well. About half of the attached store is stocked with various organic-y things that are from other, not necessarily local, producers. The other half is stuff that is made on site (jams, relishes, breads, pies, etc). To top it all off, you can get breakfast or lunch made for you right there in the store (there are picnic tables at the back to dine at). All in all, it was glorious. I was sorry that I only enjoyed two meals there. That’s the sort of place, like The Genuine Faux Farm back home, that would seriously increase my quality of life if I lived there.