Oh, my.

I enjoy Pierce Brosnan, generally, but he is not a singer. Oof.

And oof, overall, to Mamma Mia, but I'm delighted to be home watching a crappy movie, drinking wine, hanging out with muh hubby and our clean, sleepy dog. It'll be back to the grind soon enough, but I'm incredibly happy and grateful for a couple of days off to spend with family, and just to relax a bit.

Happy holidays, all two of my readers!

D.C. in December

I had had a sizable hiatus from my D.C. travel, for a few weeks because I had a gazillion things going on in the office, then because there wasn't much I could get done post-election, then again because there was too much going on back home. Today, I got back into my usual routine: stop at 7-11 for breakfast, newspapers, drinks; hop on the 5:58 a.m. down; 6:10 p.m. return. Tomorrow I have to go back in the afternoon, for an overnight visit that will also entail six hours on a bus schmoozing with Hill staff. It's going to be a long week.

Anyway, I hadn't been down since the Capitol Visitor Center opened a couple of weeks ago. I don't particularly care about the CVC itself, although I'm sure it's interesting and all that, but I am quite excited that the construction is done, because I now can take a more direct route between the House and the Senate. It's the little things, really.

But today, we tried to walk across the Capitol area, and ended up having to take the long way around, because they're setting up for the inauguration. Which was exciting to see, and is probably the closest I'll come to being at the inauguration. It is just going to be nuts. Part of me would love, love, love to be there; most of me will be much happier watching it on TV. I keep telling my friend who has a one-bedroom apartment in a somewhat shady part of D.C. that he should post an ad on Craigslist to offer someone his couch for a thousand bucks a night, and see if he gets any takers. I bet he would.

It was good to be back on the Hill -- I love being there during December in an election year, when all of the insanely well-orchestrated office moves take place, when people have their chairs and desks and computers and framed photos out in the hallways with giant DO NOT REMOVE!!!!!!! signs taped all over them. I love the holiday cards that members of Congress display in their reception areas; I love the carefully-chosen, locally relevant ornaments they hang on their Christmas trees. I loved how busy and energetic it felt, despite it being the first day of recess in what people initially thought would be a long, quiet lame-duck session. There's excitement in the air.

On my way back to the train station, I again walked past the inauguration site, this time in the dark, and the Christmas tree was all lit up, and the Capitol was all lit up, and it was breathtakingly beautiful. It filled me with hope.

I'm sure I'll soon be back to being cynical; and focusing on how taxing it is to schlep back and forth all the time; and bitching about how I have to half-run to the train station, in the 60-degree weather in the middle of December, carrying my coat and my suit jacket and two work bags; and how I have to change my ticket at the station, which means I don't have time to get dinner, so I end up eating Entenmann's cookies for dinner on the train, and I never got to eat lunch, and now I have a total sugar hangover.

But for now, a positive and hopeful attitude, gratefulness for a job that feels meaningful, and excitement for what lies ahead.

A heavy double-feature

The Smelmooo and I had an all-too-rare day with no social plans, so, despite my being completely behind on my holiday shopping, we decided to go to the movies. Two movies, in fact, with a quick dinner at Cosi in between. Why do I love Cosi so? We didn't even have time for the S'mores, but there is something about their sandwiches that tastes like heaven to me.

First, we saw Rachel Getting Married, which I'd been wanting to see for ages. I secretly like Anne Hathaway, and even though I didn't realize she'd been nominated for a Golden Globe for her performance, I'd heard good things about her and about the movie itself. Someone at work described it to me as a four-star movie, but acknowledged that he'd have liked it better if it were a three-star movie. I'm not entirely sure I agree with that, but maybe: perhaps if there'd been a few more moments of levity, it'd have been a less perfect, but more enjoyable film. It was heavy and uncomfortable (at one point, the Smelmooo, who has a strict no-talking policy in the movies, leaned over as Anne Hathaway's character started her toast at the rehearsal dinner and whispered, "I don't think I can sit through this part.") and painful; there were parts that felt heartbreakingly real and true.

It felt too long; there were lots of group shots, and it felt like we heard from every single person at the wedding, and I could've done without that. I think it was probably a creative decision to set the mood, to bring the audience in and make us really feel like we were part of this crowd, but it didn't quite work for me. But on the whole, I thought it was really well-acted and a good movie. Debra Winger was barely in it, but she kind of stole it for me, although I understand the love for Anne Hathaway in this role.

After dinner, we went back to the same theater to see Milk. I have had a bizarre pseudo-obsession with Harvey Milk since I took an AIDS class in college. It was one of the best classes I ever took, and it kind of changed my life; I don't think I'd be in the job I'm in today if I hadn't taken it. It was a mix of science and public health and politics and policy and media, and early on we watched a movie about Harvey Milk, and I was completely fascinated by him. So I was excited to hear about the new Milk movie, even though I'm fairly adamantly anti-Sean Penn.

But, boy, was he good in this role. I hope he wins the Golden Globe and the Oscar, even though I have no idea who the competition might be. James Franco, who apparently was nominated for Pineapple Express, which I think is ridiculous, was also quite good here.

Even though I pretty much knew the story, I was riveted during the movie (although I was completely annoyed by the Diego Luna character, who I thought added nothing, and I don't understand why Milk would've put up with him, although the Smelmooo disagrees), and I got completely swept up in it; by turns, my heart soared and my eyes filled up and I felt really, really angry. Not only for what happened in the movie, but because of how much is still the same 30 years later. Some of the rhetoric has shifted, the bigotry is not always as blatant, but here we are with Prop 8 and persistent discrimination and ignorance, and it's troubling.

A few weeks ago, I was listening to a story on NPR about the movie, and they interviewed a bunch of young people who are advocates in the LGBT community, and almost all of them said they sort of knew who Milk was, or they knew the story because of the Twinkie Defense, but that they didn't think that Milk was so relevant today, because there are now plenty of out politicians, and it's not such a big deal. But you watch this movie, and as bad as things still are today, you can imagine how much worse they'd be if it weren't for Harvey Milk.

So, a good night at the movies, but exhausting. I am spent, and enjoying that we're now watching Robot Chicken. I need a break from serious fare.

Logorrhea

There are times when I should just. stop. talking. But I can't. I sometimes get what Lindsay Lohan describes as "word vomit" in Mean Girls.

Yesterday, for example, I had a doctor's appointment (I finally, finally found a primary care doc who I really, really like, so anyone in the Princeton area who's looking, I'll hook you up), and as she was doing my physical, the doctor was asking me a whole bunch of questions: Do you have joint problems? (No); Is your hearing okay? (What?); Any trouble sleeping? (No); Do you have night sweats?

To this last one, I should have just answered, unequivocally, "No." But, of course, I have to overthink everything, and I'm terrified of inadvertently lying to anyone who's in a position of authority, so I decided it was important to say, "Well, I don't think night sweats, per se, but I sometimes do sort of, I guess, because my husband's really hot in the bed."

And I immediately, of course, became totally flustered and beet red, and then felt compelled to explain, "Oh, wow, that sounded dirty. I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that."

To which my very kind doctor replied, "Oh, don't worry -- I didn't think of it that way." She totally gave me an out. Which I could. not. take.

"What I meant was, he's kind of like a human space heater. He's just so WARM! So, you know, sometimes, at night, I feel really hot, but...uh...Yeah, I think it doesn't count as night sweats. No. I'm good. No night sweats."

I'm such an idiot, sometimes.