Dupont Fountain

This, to those of you who are curious, is the fountain at Dupont Circle. I pass it whenever I go to work. Sometimes, when I get lost, I do laps around it. When I first got here I got lost a lot. I'm surprised I didn't wear down a path of footprints around the fountain.

The fountain has been in this spot since 1920. It is a memorial fountain for Samuel Francis Dupont an American Naval officer from 1803-1865. He served in the Mexican-American and Civil War. I always forget just how many wars were going on during this time in American history. It is always a jolt to the timeline in my head whenever I read of people who participated in multiple ones.

What I think is really neat about this fountain is that the three statues encircling the neck of the fountain are symbolic. On one side there is a toga draped woman with one foot on a porpoise. She represents the sea. 

On another side there is a statue of a fine looking man whose toga seems to be flying away from his body. He is standing, legs spread, over a boat. He represents wind. His pose reminds me of that famous one of Marilyn Monroe in the white dress over the vent. Except, he's not trying to keep his windblown toga in place.

The third statue is a nearly nude woman with ridiculously long wavy hair. She represents the stars. If you look closely you will see a small star in her hair. I personally think she represents stars because if I were to pull a Pygmalion and wish the statue to life Herbal Essences would surely kidnap her and turn her in to one of their commercial stars. Her hair is that pretty and hair-flippy.

Woodrow Wilson House

The Woodrow Wilson House was my first official outing in Washington D.C. It was my first because I couldn't blow it off like I had the plans that had preceded it. That's what happens when I schedule tours. I feel guilty and show up.

I got there exactly five minutes late. I timed it. It wasn't entirely my fault I'll have you know. The metro was doing work on the Red Line from Van Ness to Dupont. So instead of people watching through a speedy train ride I had to get off at Van Ness and wiggle my way out of the station and in to the growing mob of people waiting for the bus.

As annoying and time consuming (it added 30 mins. to my commute) as it was the metro workers did a good job of keeping people moving and calm.

An elderly lady let me in and after I hung my leather jacket at the coat rack she led me upstairs to my tour. There was a couple and two men who I assumed were their gay sons but were actually an entirely separate couple. Believe me, all four of them bore an uncanny resemblance!

The tour guide was young, good looking, and informative. I have a weakness for men who can rattle off historical facts with enthusiasm. Since the tour and the house were small we got to spend a lot of time in each room and get all of our questions answered.

Growing up my Mom and I would take trips to Hearst Castle in California. Together, we have gone on every single tour. Some of them more than once. These trips, along with others, instilled in me an appreciation for old historical houses. I like to see how they are decorated, what appliances were the rage, how high the doorways were, if the husband and wife had different rooms, etc. It truly interests me, and it makes me feel less homesick because it reminds me of those trips with my Mom.

What I really like are the little call boxes. I think there is another name for them but that's what I call them. They are usually in the kitchen. The boxes allowed kitchen servants to see who in the house needed service. The one at Hearst Castle is MASSIVE. The one at the Riordan Mansion, an Arts & Crafts style house I visited several times while at school, is about medium sized. The one at the Woodrow Wilson House was the smallest I have seen.

BTW if you like Arts & Craft style houses there is a wonderful house tour in Pasadena, CA.

After the tour my guide graciously offered to catch me up on what I had missed, so I got a mini-private tour. When he'd caught me up to speed he led me down to the video room where I watched a short film (I like those too). He kept checking in on me to see how far along I was. When I finished I walked over to the small "Electric Exhibit," the House was having. That was boring.

The gift shop was much more interesting. Mostly because the cute tour guide was in there. I picked up a map he had recommended and we chatted a bit. He was easy to talk to. Since I had just moved to the area I didn't know very many people. It felt good to chat with someone new and interesting and charming. Our conversation was interrupted by the doorbell. He walked over to answer it and I slipped out behind the new guests without saying goodbye. Stupid move.

It wasn't until after I left and went to another museum (the Textile Museum a building or two down) that I thought to give him my phone number.

I couldn't stop thinking about him to the point that I found it difficult to pay attention. I decided that I would walk back and give him my phone number. I even worked out a little speech. It went like this,

"Hi. I was thinking, and, well do you want someone to hang out with? Because I just moved here and I don't really know anybody. My name is _______ by the way."

Subtlety has never been a forte of mine. I have found that I don't really need it though. When I just come out with something so blatant, direct, and cute I end up controlling the conversation because the other person is so stunned. It works in my favor, usually.

Unfortunately he did not answer the door. The old lady who had let me in before did.

"Why did you come back? Did you forget something?"

I froze which was bad. Then I said a series of stupid nonsensical things which was worse.

I made so little sense that she backed away from the door and I awkwardly stepped inside. I skirted over to the Electric Exhibit which I knew was so boring it'd have to be empty. I tried to regain my nerve but I could not so I fled the Woodrow Wilson House.

And that my friends is how to insure that you will never visit a museum more than once.

I am also guessing one way to insure you never end up on a date with a cute guy is to write a blog about your failed attempt to give him your phone number.

The Spanish Steps

As far as I could tell there is nothing remarkably historical about the Spanish Steps. Even so if you happen to be on your way to the Textile Museum or the Woodrow Wilson House take a moment to check out the view.

If like me you have a penchant for walks and talks (I call it twalking) the Spanish Steps are a nice place to stop for a break and some relaxing conversation.

Although I haven't experienced the steps at night I have heard that it makes for a romantic spot. Ideal for moonlit seductions and "stolen" kisses. 

SCOTT: Identity Known

After visiting the Textile Museum the other day my date, Danny, and I went for a walk around the area. It was an abnormally beautiful day. If it weren't for the buildings and the lack of blonde surfer dudes I could have pretended I was in California.

On the walk I spotted this statue in a grassy circle surrounded on all sides by traffic. Since I've been here I have adopted the habit of photographing every statue I come across. A minimum of 2 photos per statue. One photo of the statue and one photo of the engraving. You can learn a lot from reading a statue's plaque.

UNLESS,

that statue is the one I saw. After being yanked by Danny across the street (jaywalking unnerves me) I found myself face to stone. I raised my eyes a bit and saw the word SCOTT. That was it. SCOTT. My date and I walked around the base of the statue inspecting it for any shadowy letters but we didn't find any.

"Scott must be pretty important."

Danny, who is a local I would like to add, had no idea who Scott was. Neither did I. 

Turns out he was one of the top military commanders of his time. He participated in the war of 1812, the Black Hawk War, the Second Seminole War, and the Mexican American War. Although he was too old to fight during the Civil War it was his "Anaconda Plan," that the Union used to gain control of the Mississippi River.

Winfield Scott, if I was named Winfield I'd have them just put Scott on my statue too, also supervised the diaspora of the Cherokee Nation in what is now called the Trail of Tears.

I just can't get that last bit out of my head. This is the man who commanded the troops who marched Cherokee men, women, and children a thousand miles over six months. An inhumane march during which an estimated 4,000 Cherokee people died.

Bravo for being a brilliant military tactician and being an asset in so many wars, but shame for being involved in the Trail of Tears. 

When I read about someone, unless I already know they are monstrous, I want to like them. That being said, I want to believe that this is something Scott did because he was commanded, and that it hurt him to do it, but I don't know that it did.

This statue is in Scott's circle (makes sense doesn't it?).

If any one knows more information about Winfield Scott by all means share it. I would love to hear any factual commentary and/or corrections (mistakes can be easily made). 

Dragons, Nagas, and velvet oh my!

I went to the Textile Museum, yesterday on a date with Danny. Yes, the man I met at the Rock N' Roll Hotel and who I cannot disassociate with the name Danny Rock N' Roll even though I now know his real last name.

Anyway, it was my second time at the museum, and incidentally enough my second date with the man in question.

There are currently two exhibits at the Textile Museum. They are Weaving Abstraction: Kuba Textiles/Woven Art of Central Africa and Dragons, Nagas, and Creatures of the Deep in honor of the East Asian calendar's year of the dragon. 

Last time I went to the museum the dragon exhibit wasn't open so I spent my time pouring over the geometric skirts, baskets, rugs, etc. of the Kuba Kingdom. The exhibit will only be there until February 12th so if its something that interests you I highly recommend you get a move on. Between the two exhibits it was my preferred.

The Dragon, Nagas, and Creatures of the Deep exhibit is much smaller than the Kuba one. 20-30 minutes is more than enough time to see everything. Although it is small it was not an unpleasant use of time. My favorite piece was a velvety scrap of two brothers hurling boulders at a group of dragons that had surrounded them. I have a fondness for anything that helps me to imagine a story and that velvety bit certainly did.