Reflections on Our Nation’s Capital
I’m writing now from a Starbucks (I’m sorry, Dunkin Donuts…I’ll be home soon) About to go to the Sirius Satellite Radio Studios. Of course, I’m wearing my Redsox hat, which means that I get dirty looks from most passerbys.
Strangely, I don’t mind.
I just got back from an excursion down to DC. As you may have seen, my first entry there was less than ideal. But things of that nature must be documented.
I was in and out of the Capitol building, trying to get various Congressmen and Senators to speak with me (Us) about Stop The Pike Hike. It was fun to drive there, for no other reason that I didn’t have to pay for the gas. Myself, Spencer, and Troy went to meet Mike down there. We went, we saw, we conquored. Driving in the city was interesting. Cops on every corner, and people constantly asking me about the Ford Fiesta. Took a few pictures, you can check them out on my flickr: http://www.flickr.com/photos/tollarphotos/
I also got the chance to briefly stop in at home. I hesitate to write much about my family, because I know that they read this, and it might be akward. However, stories must be told.
My father was (and probably still is. this is so embarassing…) my hero in the truest sense. In complete cliche fashion, the first fight I ever got into was a challenge that my dad could be beat up by someone else’s. I lost that fight, but I’m sure my father would’ve won.
My Dad is terrifyingly (is that a word?) intelligent. It is truely scary to see his mind work in a high gear. He is often quiet and wears a scowl on his face. That scowl is his trademark that he is deep in thought and best be left alone. We used to drive 14 hours to visit my Grandparents in Indiana every christmas, and he would drive the entire way. The rest of the family would often sleep, and he would silently drive. He later told me that those times were when he would write his book, in his head, and later on put it to paper. My father is a legend amongst my friends; the stories are known throughout Boston. When he isn’t busy thinking, my Dad is surprisingly funny, and can go from a scowl to laughing to tears. The only downfall is that he is, in fact, very smart; therefore his wit can often be sharp and unforgiving.
My mother is one of the kindest and strangest people I know. She puts up with the antics of my father, and would put up with my antics as a child, which should automatically earn her a spot with the other saints. I recall my Dad and I would misbehave in church and would have to be seperated by my poor mother, eternally vexed by our shenanigans. There are a few things that are very true about Mom; she will never let someone go hungry, and is constantly giving of her time and her resources. She is not the constantly funny type, but every now and again, she says something so witty that it lives forever in family dinner legend. The problem is that Mom is able to keep up with Dad intellectually, the both of them and my sister often leaving me in the proverbial dust. Mom is who I call when things are really bad, because she always has a way of comforting me and telling me to man up in the same sentence.
Unlike me, my sister is like a hybrid of my parents. She has my father’s mind and my mothers looks. She is an introverted and gentile person, with sharpened interests and the look of someone who thinks things that can’t be put into words. In all, my sister (and the rest of my family) are far far smarter than I am. I got this weird recessive gene where I’m just…different. Anyways…
It is always remarkable 2 things never change: how it is so quiet there, and always smells the same way. Something about the basement makes memories rush back into my head.
When I was a kid, I was constantly looking to find myself. In an attempt, I would often try to claim space as my own. My room was no fun at all, and I asked my parents if I could live in the basement. The answer was a resounding no. However, in a stroke of genius, I declared a couch and TV in the basement as “Eric’s Fort.” There were, of course, no fortifications of any kind, but it was my fort god da**it. Of course, I was President, Emperor, Dictator, and Fearless Leader of the Fort, and Zach was my Vice President. This was put boldly on a sign for all to see, “ERIC’S FORT.” And it listed the various offices. Zach’s little brother, Matthew, (whom was affectionately called Bubba) wanted desperately to have an office in the Fort Infastructure. Therefore we declared him “Fort Peon.” He didn’t like that very much, so we immidetely promoted him to “Lead Peon.” That was the best he was going to get and he knew it, so the arguements quickly stopped. I would tell you more, but Fort Business is highly confidential, and the bylaws which are still in place today will not allow me to write another word.
All I wish is that the computer had scratch-and-sniff screens so that you might fully understand. Spend a couple minutes in my basement, and it will all make sense.
I’m off to the Sirius Studio’s in Downtown NYC and will be driving home to Boston after. I’ll make sure to blog about it when I get back. Mission Video should be up by then.
Keep on Reading.
