Washington D.C.

Washington, D. C. July. No politicians were there, and most of the tourists we saw were foreign. Mostly Asian. John Rocker (the opinionated Atlanta Braves pitcher) reportedly wants to know where all “these foreigners” come from; I could tell him now, were I on speaking terms with him, that they all come from Washington. That’s probably why the crowds were so pleasant, well behaved, happy and convivial. I took in the outside of the Capitol (couldn’t figure out how to get inside), the Smithsonian Institution (all of it, I think), most of the museums, the Vietnam Veterans’ Memorial, the Korean War Memorial, the Lincoln Memorial and part of Arlington Cemetery. With my poor math capability, I computed that the Washington Monument, should it fall to one side, would only crush 1/3 of the people standing in line to get inside, so I didn’t run that risk. Grant still rides Traveler doggedly through the smog; the statute led me to wonder if Bill and Monica might be so honored in some Heffnerian future.
I also toured parts of the town itself. I found that driving up Wisconsin Avenue actually led one through alabaster cities gleaming, undimmed by human tears; and with brotherhood ... well, there are no human tears because there are no humans here. It seems to be a steril marketing commercial avenue. We had a good Mexican meal at a place called Guapos (which we found means “handsome”) and then a poor meal at an Italian place I won’t name, wherein even though I had asked that the pasta not be cooked more than five minutes, it arrived al gummé. Three blocks to the east, driving up Georgia Avenue, one appears to travel through a third-world nation that reminded me of my old hometown, Vicksburg, Mississippi, except that 50 years ago, Vicksburg looked somewhat better than this place does now. Things were not as run down back then, nor were there bars on every window, nor did anyone, much less everybody, seem to have cell phones attached to their ears. Still there seemed an absence of humanity in the shining city of Chevy Chase, while humanity pulsed and throbbed with laughter, song and drumbeat along this other great, noisy and multicolored way.
We went on board the moon that orbits Washington which is called the National Cathedral, a quiet sailing ship which rides away from its earthy anchor, nodding to its own cycles and riding serenely and brightly, ‘unphased’ by the hum of mother planet which boils and seethes and is filled with carnivores but is beneath its run.