Moving on up

This weekend, if all goes well, I will be moving to a new apartment in DC. I'm terribly excited to be heading to a different neighborhood. Where I am now has been good, but it comes with its share of annoyances: thirty minute bus rides to the grocery store, a twenty minute walk to the metro, no neighborhood conveniences (stores, etc.) to speak of, no air conditioning, and lots of bike-inhibiting hills in the neighborhood. None of these has made it a bad place to live, per se, but I'm not going to miss these issues. I'll be moving to a basement unit in a townhouse in the historic Kalorama Triangle in the northwest part of the city. The location alone makes the slight increase in rental costs worth it: a four minute walk to the metro, five minutes to the grocery store, and tons of restaurants, bars, and shops close by. Also, my commute to work will be cut in half.

New neighborhood

This has gotten me thinking about urban planning and walkability. My new neighborhood will be extremely walkable. Errands will be able to be done on foot, and leisure (in the form of park space) is only a few blocks away. Kalorama is known as one of the more well-to-do areas of Washington, and neighboring Adams Morgan was named one of the best urban neighborhoods in the United States. Though we have found a really good deal, rent is generally not cheap. This begs the question: why have our most walkable and convenient neighborhoods so priced out the poor, who would benefit most from easy proximity to the necessities of life? We can go back and forth about gentrification, but it somewhat misses the point of the issue. We may not force people out of every neighborhood wanting to be the new Brooklyn, simply because we've already condemned the people there to a poor quality of life by the very design of the city. If it's an annoyance for me, a decently-well-off young person with a professional job, nearly two college degrees, and a decent amount of leisure time, to go grocery shopping, how much more is it a strain on a single mother raising two kids and working two jobs? There's plenty of blame to go around for this state of affairs, and there are frankly very few easy solutions.

The City of Magnificent Distances

 Washington is a walking city. If you've read any of my accounts of my own lookings-around the city (with or without friends in tow), you will have noticed the distances covered on foot are not negligible. For starters, the Mall is about two miles long from end to end, so to traverse it at a leisurely pace takes about forty-five minutes (inclusive of waiting time at crosswalks, which, in this city, can also be a considerable use of one's time). But, as spread out as the city is, it is sometimes downright pleasant to walk around in. Perhaps the human-scaled architecture, prevented by law from reaching much more than one hundred feet, lends the city a more agreeable street scape. The streets themselves - even the busy ones - are generally no more than four lanes wide, which keeps traffic slower (much to their chagrin, I'm sure).

In any event, even in the summertime humidity it has proven a pleasure to stretch the legs after work and walk around the city. Just last Wednesday, I met up with a friend who had an extra ticket to go to the top of the Washington Monument, which has just reopened to the public. To meet him, I walked along the Potomac from Georgetown, enjoying the trail along the waterfront before turning east at the Lincoln Memorial to head down the Mall. This past Friday evening, friends were picnicking at the Sculpture Garden for the ever-popular Jazz in the Garden summer concert series. I again walked from work, but chose the more direct route of Virginia Avenue, as I was in more of a hurry. Both walks were probably about two miles when all was said and done, but they were quite nice.

I had been toying with the idea of walking to or from work at some point, just to see how it went. The route I currently take to work, detailed in a post or two below, is rather convoluted if you map it out with geographic accuracy. As the crow flies, I live about four miles from work. As the Metro runs (or doesn't run) and as the Matt walks, my current commute shakes out to about seven and a half miles. I figured walking would be a happy middle-ground distance-wise. So, today I tried it out and clocked in at just under five miles walking at about an eighteen minute mile average pace. That brings us to an hour and a half walk. Getting home via Metro and walking takes about an hour. So, I saved $2.60 by adding a half hour to my commute today.

The trek

I think it may be worth it to make a habit out of this walk (perhaps in the mornings, when it's cooler, instead). The neighborhoods that I pass through are generally the green, leafy sort, so there is ample shade. There's a lot of fine landmarks to look at. And, lastly, there's many different changes in route that I could make to keep things interesting.

Today, I took the most direct route I could think of. Turning north off M St just before Rock Creek, I cut through a small park whose path led me to the P St Bridge, which I crossed and then immediately turned left onto Florida Avenue. After a brief stint on Florida as it winds past the Cosmos Club and the Embassy of Estonia, I turned north on to the mighty Connecticut Avenue. This was perhaps least pleasant portion, as the street is five lanes and quite busy during the evening rush hour. But, it lasted for only a block or two before I turned northeast on to Columbia Road, which I followed through Kalorama, Adams Morgan, and into Columbia Heights. Columbia Road is interesting in that it provides almost the entire spectrum of the socioeconomic strata of the city in less than a mile - from the Neoclassical severity of the Russian Economic Mission to an Ethiopian laundromat. From Columbia Heights, it was but a quick jaunt over to New Hampshire Avenue, then on to Rock Creek Church Road, which I followed along around to my humble abode just across North Capitol Street.

I have toyed with the idea of biking as well, but there is something downright nice about walking that you don't necessarily experience while biking. You get just as sweaty, but see half as much. Plus, it's a hassle to get my bike out of my apartment, down the stairs, and out the door (and then back in), and at 8am, I am just not one to deal with it. Anyways, we'll see how the walking goes, and whether I stick with it periodically or not.  

Commute

The month of May has recently departed from us as we speed ever so swiftly into the sultry days of summer. I have not written much of late, as I have been preoccupied by a great many things - foremost among which is my summer internship position. I was happy to accept a paid architectural internship earlier this past month at Hickok Cole Architects - a firm of about 90 people located in the Georgetown neighborhood of DC. I have had a good experience thus far, and have been learning much every day. The one drawback (if I must choose one) is the long commute I make to and from work each day. But, even this has settled into a routine.

I leave my door no later than ten to eight every morning. The fresh morning air has typically allowed me to put the extra spring in my step needed to negotiate the hills in my neighborhood. I arrive at the Brookland metro station and immediately slip into my MetroMode™, which typically involves a stoney-faced expression and a startling lack of patience for all of those who must (by some stern, unheard command, perhaps?) walk at a glacial pace within the Metro system. Having settled into MetroMode™, I take the ever-fickle, ever-jerky Red Line in the direction of Glenmont. If I am lucky, I get a seat and am able to enjoy about 15 minutes of good reading time. If I am unlucky (and I am), I am smooshed cheek-by-jowl into the belly of the car so that when the station is reached, I must clamor over people as if I were one of the sans-culottes in Delacroix's Liberty Leading the People, yearning for freedom from the hot, crowded car.

It does indeed take all of the energy of the July Revolution for me to make my way onto the platform at Metro Center, where an even more daring maneuver must be undertaken. At approximately 8:30am each morning I take part in the daily Running of the Stairs. Like the similarly named event in Pamplona, the Running of the Stairs features madmen running headlong through narrow public spaces. Fear of being late to their useless bureaucratic governmental desks, rather than the traditional bull, goads these men on. And what an event it is to see! The perpetually-sweating State Department staffer hurdling the little old woman who just wants to get on the Blue Line to go shopping in Pentagon City! The sheer thrill of plunging through ear-budded, pre-coffee, angry-faced government workers! All to make it into the Blorange Line train before the tell-tale chime signals the merciless closing of the most merciless of all portals - the Metro car doors. As an aside, just yesterday I saw my first dooring. A clueless man was smashed in the doors at Union Station. He ranted with exquisite profanity to an apathetic car-full of people all the way to Gallery Place-Chinatown.

Invariably, we make it on to some Blorange Line train or another, and endure a further three stops before exiting at Foggy Bottom, the most fancifully-named of all Metro stops. With the humidity as it is in this city, it's a wonder that everyone doesn't have a foggy bottom by about 9:15am every day. In any event, Foggy Bottom has the secondary, dubious honor of being the worst-designed Metro station in the system. Everyone exits and must then process (there's no rushing here) to the end of the platform to two upward-bound escalators that are almost always broken. There are no stairs nor any other secondary means of ascension apart from an elevator that is almost always full of the aforementioned little old ladies. Somehow, we manage to spring forth from the earth and into the even more perilous and intriguing world of downtown Washington.

The Metro exit deposits one beside the GWU Medical Center. At the top of the escalator, there is always someone playing a guitar badly, and there is an umbrella salesman who haunts the premises on rainy days. Navigating from the Foggy Bottom exit on 19th Street, circumambulating around Washington Circle, to Pennsylvania Avenue is a feat worthy of Ferdinand Magellan, Captain Cook, and the other great circumnavigators of history. The sidewalks are, like the heart of the Grinch, two sizes too small. And, no matter what Christmas miracles may befall the Whos down in Whoville, it won't make a difference to these sidewalks at all. People walk too slowly. They walk as if a geologic age was but a fleeting moment. I often think that perhaps Our Lord Himself has descended again from His celestial throne to amble about, as to Him "A thousand years are like a day." Nowadays, since one can call oneself Christian on the most flimsy of pretexts, it would be safe to say that in regards to walking in this godly fashion, one could reckon the Christian population of Washington Circle as extremely high.

Somehow, we manage to pass through this human molasses and reach the wider sidewalks around the corner by New Hampshire Avenue. In between, there is a rather literary homeless man who always has an intriguing display of reading material spread for sale on the sidewalk. The other day I saw numerous old copies of Restoration Hardware catalogues and "The Complete Idiots Guide to Judaism." Eclectic, if nothing else.

At long last, we round the corner across from the Spanish Embassy and begin the homestretch down Pennsylvania Avenue, as it runs through the West End and into Georgetown at last. This stretch is home to some admirably wide sidewalks, so I am not given to noticing things to the degree that I have the privilege of doing around Washington Circle. However, I do always enjoy people-watching at the Melrose Hotel, which caters to a rich-tourists-from-Iowa clientele. Flannel and martinis may be seen on the sidewalk terrace (on my evening commute, of course). Next is the surprisingly-not-too-ugly-given-its-age St Stephen Martyr Catholic Church. The carving on the doors is exquisite, but the plaque posted on the wall calls attention to a rather badly done ceramic statue of the saint affixed halfway up the wall, simply because the sculptor also sculpted the Iwo Jima Memorial. Alas, we can't have it all, can we.

The remainder of Pennsylvania Avenue is fairly nondescript apart from the regional Mormon headquarters being located betwixt two bars, and a stereotypical Italian restaurant with white linen tablecloths and Botticelli's The Birth of Venus emblazoned on the doors via stickers. The executive avenue crosses Rock Creek Park and its Parkway and enters the hallowed vicinity of Georgetown. The first landmark is the Four Seasons Hotel, which caters to a slightly more diplomatic set of guests than the Melrose. Earbudded men in black suits in black SUV's are often to be seen in the porte cochere.

Next comes the most tempting part of the whole affair. There is a little bookstore in the midst of several shops right after the Four Seasons. And, like any bookstore worth its salt, it puts out the bargain books on the sidewalk, so as to lure passing bibliophiles in for a look around. It has worked on not a few occasions so far. I have made a purchase of David McCullough's fascinating read The Greater Journey: Americans in Paris and an anthology of all of Jorge Luis Borges' non-poetic works. Both were for far below their marked price. Such a coincidence has made me a happy reader of late (as if I need more to read these days).

After the bookshop there is a little French cafe-and-crepe place called Cafe Tu-O-Tu, which has an assortment of red chairs out front. Every morning I see the same group of French-speaking gentlemen sitting there with their morning cigarettes and coffees. It seems even DC can't break the French of their habits. In the spirit of American multiculturalism, the adjacent establishment, Sterling & Burke, can only be described as an Anglophile's permanent rummage sale. The front window includes a Union Jack, cufflinks, tea apparatuses, and the like. I cannot fathom how such a place makes enough to pay the rent. By now, we have reached 29th and M Street.

The rest of the way to the office is by way of the ridiculously tight sidewalks of M Street - which, unlike those near Washington Circle, are cobblestone. This adds to the difficulty. But, thankfully, the morning commute is usually light by the time I am in that vicinity, and I can make it unperturbed to the office near 31st and the canal. I must have been quite the sight the other day, however. My friend cooked dinner for a few of us and asked me to pick up a loaf of French bread. I went over to Dean and Delucca and got a suitable loaf. This was around 6:15 and a violent storm was on its way in from the west. With a baguette in one hand, and my too-large-for-M-St-sidwalks-umbrella in the other, and the billowing storm clouds just behind me, I am sure I was sending people fleeing as I marched very quickly back toward the Metro.

Such is the routine of the day. The ordinary becomes interesting if you look at it long enough, and that's what I shall endeavor to do for the rest of my time this summer. I've been granted an hour in the morning and an hour in the evening to study the strangeness of humanity in all of its manifestations. What a life!

Why isn't the District of Columbia square?

If you've ever looked at a map of Maryland and Virginia and wondered why the otherwise regular boundaries of the District of Columbia only enclose land on the Maryland side of the Potomac, you aren't alone. I, too, found this truncation curious, as the original Residence Act passed in 1790 stipulated a district that was to be ten miles by ten miles square. It turns out, this was originally the case. When the Organic Act of 1801 placed the newly delineated District of Columbia under the exclusive purview of Congress, it included the new federal city of Washington, the existing city of Georgetown, the existing city of Alexandria, and many acres of rural land.

The map above, though from much later, shows how the District's boundaries would've looked in 1801. Since Washington did not undergo a major period of population until after the Civil War, the region was quite rural and sparsely populated for much of the Nineteenth Century. Throughout the Antebellum period, government of the District was split between the three city governments of Washington, Georgetown, and Alexandria (which were referred to as Georgetown, DC, and Alexandria, DC, at that time), and the two county governments of Washington County on the north side of the Potomac and Alexandria County (later, Arlington County) on the south side of the Potomac.

As the Nineteenth Century sped toward the Civil War, the Virginia side of the District began agitating to be freed of federal domination and return to Virginia. This was partly because Alexandria had lost much of its share of the trading economy to Georgetown, and partly because there were rumors that slavery was to be outlawed in the District. Thus, in 1846, the retrocession of Alexandria and Alexandria County to Virginia was completed. This left the District of Columbia with land only on the Maryland side of the Potomac.

Eventually, due to the rapid growth of the capital after the Civil War, the population growth was such that the city of Washington annexed all of the County of Washington, and eventually took Georgetown too. This process was completed in 1871, when a the District was consolidated into a single local government unit - an arrangement that exists to this day. When Georgetown was absorbed into the consolidated government, all of the streets were renamed to match the existing conventions present throughout the rest of Washington. Thus, though the streets are much older, the main thoroughfares have rather modern names. M Street and Wisconsin Avenue, the two major thoroughfares, were originally named Bridge Street and High Street, respectively.

On death and the soreness of feet

It is simultaneously a delight and a detriment to one's health to reside in a city such as Washington, where constantly exists an ebb and flow of various friends and acquaintances. On the happier side, one's social calendar is manifestly enlivened, and excuses are made in order to spend the entire afternoon masquerading as the most maligned DC denizen - the tourist. On the painful side, one's feet tend to ache after a weekend of such traipsing.

The Friday 7:15pm train brought our good friend Nick down from old Baltimore, wherein he is engaged in the architectural profession on a semester internship with a firm of some repute. With him came our friend Taylor who also works in that venerable city, but resides in the capital with his wife, Heidi, who graduated with me and Nick from Ball State. Having met the pair at Union Station, the sole boast of America's train network, we strolled through Capitol Hill to Taylor and Heidi's home, where dinner awaited. Conversation naturally focused on things architectural, and we had a good laugh about the many war stories we've each collected since we all last conversed. In an intriguing twist of fate, my studio professor this semester is Heidi's current boss and happens to live two doors down from her and Taylor. Sometimes I think DC has just as many overlapping connections as some of the small towns that people come to DC to escape from.

In any event, studio will be an interesting endeavor. The project centers on a new interpretive gallery and visitor's facilities at the Congressional Cemetery - an oft overlooked burial ground on the southeastern edge of Capitol Hill, along the Anacostia River. The cemetery's heyday was during the Antebellum period, when all congressmen who died while in office were buried there. Notable graves from more modern eras include those of John Philip Sousa and J. Edgar Hoover. Elbridge Gerry, Vice President under James Madison, is also interred there - the only signer of the Declaration of Independence to be buried in Washington.

Nick and I, unlike the faithful departed at the Congressional Cemetery, were up bright and early Saturday morning to do a bit of sightseeing. The first stop was the ever-glorious Basilica of the National Shrine. Nick is a rather devoted Protestant, but he was very curious to learn about the Basilica and the various layers of symbolism therein contained. The evangelistic opportunities of architecture are seldom exploited in our bland era of beige, carpeted Catholicism - to our eternal detriment.

The always untrustworthy Metro, which is perpetually being rebuilt, conveyed us in an untimely fashion to Judiciary Square, from which we began the circumambulation of the various sites typical to my tours of the city. After a brief and disappointing foray into the National Building Museum (I should know by now that they're always setting up for events on Saturdays), we made our way to the National Portrait Gallery. In my opinion, it is the best museum in Washington. In addition to portraiture, there is a fantastic collection of American art, both contemporary and not, including a good bit of fine 19th Century landscape painting (the likes of Thomas Cole, Thomas Moran, and Albert Bierstadt are well represented).

The National Gallery of Art, my other place of continual pilgrimage, was the next stop. The rather uninspiring East Building, designed by triangle enthusiast I.M. Pei, is undergoing extensive renovation, so the modern collection is entirely in storage. This is no great loss in my view, apart from the room of Calder mobiles. The John Russell Pope designed West Building was fully functional, however, and could boast an excellent exhibit of Byzantine art and iconography (thronged, as it were, by Notre Dame priests in town early for the March for Life). In addition, the splendor of the rotunda was heightened by the presence of the Dying Gaul, one of the most famous Roman sculptures in existence. On loan from the Capitoline Museum, the Gaul is here until March - the first time it has left its home in at least two centuries. As is typical of most classical art, it was haunting in its realism:

So, there's two photos of death for you. The remainder of the day was fairly nonchalant, and Nick left us around 5:30. I was home and on the couch with my legs up for about five minutes before I received word that a whole company of studiomates were convening just up the road 'round Ft Totten. Alas, my aching feet would have to wait. Eric brought the chariot around and we went over to Ft Totten to have some drinks and poke some fun at the girls who take to long to get ready and never know where they want to go (these, in addition to death & taxes, are among the universe's eternal truths). At length, we ended up on the green line bound for U Street. Mercifully, the original plan to head toward Adams Morgan was abandoned. From what I understand, the place is at least three whole streets composed of the worst sort of bars full of the worst sort of people (at least, that's how it was explained). No, U Street is far better.

Up bright and early for mass at the Basilica. The afternoon, as it was a pleasant one, included a walk around the neighborhood over toward Rock Creek Church and its cemetery. My neighborhood is one of the highest in elevation in DC, which is made all the more apparent in the wintertime, now that the trees are denuded of their leaves and unexpected vistas open up as you walk along. After a bit of a circuitous route, I ended up at the cemetery, and wandered over toward the Clover Adams memorial, which features a fine sculpture by Saint-Gaudens. Though the sculpture was originally titled "The Mystery of the Hereafter and the Peace of God that Passeth Understanding", it has been commonly referred to with the less unwieldy title of "Grief" since its completion. This renaming apparently upset Henry Adams (the deceased's husband, and famed man of letters) deeply. I can't say I blame him. "Grief" certainly does not capture the full panorama of meaning found in the original title, and indeed, does not accurately the sculpture itself, which appears more peaceful than grieving:

Goodness, that makes three photos of death. I swear, I'm not attempting morbidity on purpose, but, my goodness, when your studio project is in a cemetery, I suppose things just go that way. Sunday ended with a good dinner of spaghetti, which, quite frankly, is about as fancy as I get with my cookery these days.

Today, due to the holiday, was a day off of classes. I naively assumed that I'd be able to sleep in and not have to walk to the four corners of the city for the third day in a row. Alas, the best laid plans of mice and man often go awry. I was awakened around 8 by a text informing me that the contingent of March for Lifers from my high school were to be arriving at the Basilica for a tour at 9:45. Having been a three year participant in the March for Life trip, I of course wanted to meet up with the trip leader and others. So, I hiked down to the Shrine and caught up with the group. Then, after having a chat with Mr Nugent and the others, I was shanghaied into accompanying them to Georgetown this afternoon.

It has been the plot of every group of girls that comes on the West Catholic March for Life trip to convince Mr Nugent to let them go to Georgetown Cupcakes. Every year, they giggle and plot and plead and whine, and every year he has held steadfast in his denial of their requests. Apparently he had a weak moment this year - perhaps due in part to the unseasonably warm weather here today - and he announced to me that "they've finally convinced me to go to that infernal cupcakery, or whatever it is!"

And so all fifty of us descended on Georgetown and made our way to the infernal cupcakery for an afternoon bit of sugar. By all accounts, it was a perfect day for a stroll in the most desirable neighborhood in the capital. I wandered over to the C&O Canal to see some of the older parts of the area.

So, in any event, my feet are sore and I'm looking forward to a slower weekend next. Of course, with the National March for Life and the first studio deadline of the semester intervening, I'm sure I'll be busy til then.

Christmas Greetings

If there is anyone out there who still reads this blog, I extend you joyful Christmas greetings and my best wishes for the new year! It's true, I've been rather neglectful of these pages the past weeks, or, as I now look at things, months. I must say, it's been weighing on me a bit lately. Whenever I get a moment or two of down time, I hear a little voice in the back of my mind pestering ever so quietly "write on your blog". I do love writing and sharing bits of my life through this medium, but it's the life, not the medium, that's been the tiring thing of late.

*     *     *

I returned to God's own land of Michigan late on the evening of December 12th, before much of the wicked winter weather had descended upon the Upper Midwest with much ferocity. I must say, though, that I had begun to miss winter in Washington - a feeling which was exacerbated by the pitiable way in which the region dealt with a mere two inches of snowfall the week before I left. In any event, I am home safe with one semester at the Catholic University of America behind me.

I don't wish to really delve into academics too much (at the risk of boring you, kind reader), but, suffice to say it was a successful semester on both important fronts: the lesser being the grades and the greater being the personal intellectual growth sustained. I must say that I am pleased with my choice to move to Washington and to attend CUA. It has afforded me much in the way of new perspectives and experiences, and I feel as though I am making good connections personally and professionally. But, that's all rather detached-sounding, as if I am writing for a CUA prospectus or something. I'll have thaw my writing fingers a bit more before talking more in depth about people and ideas that have made impressions on me this semester.

*     *     *

The weekend before Thanksgiving I made my first visit to New York City. I went with a friend who I know from Ball State who currently lives in Washington. We took the Megabus and stayed with a mutual friend who was in the city for the semester on a co-op internship program. We scurried about like good little tourists, attempting and mostly succeeding in seeing the major sites. I was sad that St. Patrick's was almost entirely coated in scaffolding both inside and out, but I was rewarded somewhat by happening upon a mass for the Knights of the Holy Sepulchre. It was the first time I had ever seen the Knights in any formal occasion, and it left quite an impression. I think such groups are good for the Church and for civilization in general. I may be accused for being motivated by nostalgia or mere conservatism, but I think such groups can truly raise the mind to the chivalric virtues they strive toward. Modern culture is wimpy. The knights of anything are inherently vigorous.

New York is entirely unlivable. Washington is the upper limit of urbanity that I could possibly ever deal with on a day-to-day basis. There are too many people in New York. There's no breathing room. There's the incessant monotonous march of regular blocks. Urbanistically, Washington wins, hands down. However, as far as the arts are concerned, New York beats everyone else, hands down. But, that doesn't make the city more livable in my eyes, it just makes me happy that I live only a short four hours away at this point.

*     *     *

I've missed Grand Rapids. I try not to cloud my mind unnecessarily with future plans, but one that I do fixate upon is that I would like to move back to Grand Rapids when the time comes. A professor whom I admire at Ball State would always admonish us, "Never give up on your hometown and never be ashamed of where you're from." This admonition, I think, stings the Hoosiers a bit more than it stung me, because it's very difficult for me to ever feel ashamed of West Michigan. I'm not going to gush on and on about how it's a "special place", but I will say there's a lot of raw material, so to speak, that makes it an interesting place to live.

People I meet in DC are utterly fascinated and bewildered by the Midwest. A classmate from New Jersey has never been further west than Penn State, and she was baffled when we had a lecture on Chicago, declaring "I never knew Lake Michigan was that big!" It's interesting being a stereotype. For many people I meet, Michigan is indistinguishable from anything else between Ohio and Colorado. This confronts my thinking in a harsh way, because there's a strong current of what you might call Michigander Exceptionalism in the Midwest. Michigan is different from everything around it. You can compare Indiana with Ohio and Illinois and be ok. Minnesota and Wisconsin are similar. But, Michigan is different.

*     *     *

I've made a lot of progress on my genealogical research in the past few weeks. For a long time, I had no information on my paternal grandfather's ancestors. I just new my great-grandparents' names and that they were from eastern Austria. I have since been able to trace back from my great-grandparents back to the beginning of the 19th Century. They were all ethnic Germans who lived in what was then the western edge of the Kingdom of Hungary. Nowadays, the territory they hailed from is a part of Austria. 

An interesting thing I've discovered throughout my research is how heterogenous my family is. There are unexpected little blips of different ethnicities that just pop up sometimes, much to my surprise. For instance, I was researching my grandma's grandfather, whose name was Frank Ryan. I had always been told he was Irish. His father was in fact a half Irish, half English Canadian, but his mother was French Canadian, descended from a family who were among the first settlers of Detroit. I guess the point is that the further you go back, the murkier things become. I started out my research thinking I was Austrian, Slovak, Polish, French Canadian, and Irish. I'm actually Austrian, Hungarian, Slovak, Ruthenian, Polish, French Canadian, Belgian, Swiss, Irish, German, and English.

*     *     *

Christmas was really nice this year. We had a lot of snow (about 14 inches) on the ground, and there were flurries throughout the day. We went to Midnight Mass at the Cathedral, which was beautiful as always. The chanting of Tollite Hostias and O Magnum Mysterium left a deep impression this year. This was the first time I have seen our new bishop of Grand Rapids. Not that it matters, but I like him. 

I got a hiking backpack, a winter coat, a little DVD player, and a nice messenger bag from my parents. It seemed a lot to me, but I won't complain about it. They will all be put to good use. I'm looking forward to doing more serious hiking in the future. Friends have a February camping trip in Virginia planned, so it will probably come in handy then. 

Friday we head up to the cottage for our extended New Years gathering. Many of the cousins will be up this year. Grandpa reported that the ice on the lake is about ten inches thick - unusually thick for this time of year. It will be good for hockey.

This and That

Washington is a great city for strolling

National Gallery of Art - East Building

Basilica in the evening

Rosslyn Jazz Festival with friends new and old

Cruising up to Georgetown with friends

My family at my cousin's wedding - 13 September

Beacon Hill, Boston - 22 September

The Mall nearly empty during day one of the gov't shutdown

Morning at the Southwest Waterfront

Old Airmen Cemetery near my residence

Donald Cardinal Wuerl, Archbishop of Washington visiting the Crough Center at CUA

Lecture and reception at the Italian Embassy with architect Claudio Silvestrin

Fall 2013 Sacred Space/Cultural Studies studio with Walton Critic Claudio Silvestrin

Hiking in Shenandoah

St. Anthony of Padua in DC's Brookland neighborhood

Sundry Happenings

After six days of rain, the District of Columbia has finally settled into its sunny autumn that I've been told so much about. Today it was remarkably pleasant, as was yesterday, which happened to be Columbus Day. It was as good of an excuse as any to have the day off of classes. I can only hope the current mild pleasantness of the climate continues apace throughout the week and weekend, to make thorough amends for the recent gloom.

However, the recent gloom did/does seem to fit the current political mood in the city. As you well know, la crise budgétaire continues, bringing new feats of partisan brinkmanship to the fore with each passing day. We have observed it all up close here in the Capitol, from the WWII vets' peculiarly-necessary storming aux barricades, to the man igniting himself with gasoline in the middle of the Mall, to the woman attempting to ram her little car through the bollards around the Capitol building. It's been an eventful two weeks.

*     *     *

It is interesting to now be classified as one of those "inside-the-beltway" types. Geographically, it's true. But, we know that habitat influences habit. I have found myself much more in tune to the goings-on (or not-goings-on, as the case may be) of the federal government, simply by osmosis. And, let me say, I don't particularly like what I'm absorbing. There is a fundamental malaise that seems to underlie everyone's discussion of things federal. Polarizing doesn't even begin to express it in my opinion. There are quite simply two (or three) visions for the future of this country that cannot come to grips with the reasons the others even exist, let alone contemplate their points of policy. There is something in the political air lurking behind the garbage fumes rising from the piles of uncollected trash. It ain't pretty. But, I don't really know what we can do about it. 

One professor at Ball State, who was one of my mentors, tweeted something the other day to the effect of, "In addition to all of the theatrics, Americans need to take the shutdown as a time to reflect upon what their government is for." I think that's happening bit by bit. Will there be a full-blown revolution or reformation of the federal government? It's hard to say. The mood is here, that's for sure. And, I think, if the "standoff-and-shutdown" mentality continues on down the road, people may start to seriously look at the 9th and 10th Amendments. Already, states are nullifying federal laws (California and the NDAA, for instance). Remember the last time states started nullifying federal laws? I'm no conspiracy theorist, but I do know some history.

*     *     *

Yet, amidst such uncertainties, life must carry on. The spheres inscribed on the city by my various comings and goings rarely intrude upon the realms of political thought. Rather, at the fore lately has been Claudio Silvestrin's presence in studio. I must truly eat my words from the beginning of the semester. It has been a pleasure (albeit a subtle one) to have Claudio back in studio. How to describe him? It is a difficult task. His round, bald face hardly ever displays emotion. He communicates more by pressing his lower lip forcefully into his upper lip and by furrowing (and un-furrowing) his brow than by speech. Yet, he does speak, though with few words, spoken with a rather intriguing British-Italian accent. When critiquing, he will say something like, "You should work in section." And then he will pause, purse his lips, look up and nod slowly at you. And then he'll look back at the papers in front of him and continue: "It will clarify what is happening here. You must have clarity of thought, purity of intention. That comes with clarity of drawing. Don't idolize drawing. Use it to clarify the thoughts you have up here." He'll slowly press his fat fingers into his bald head, look up, nod again, squint his eyes, perhaps wink, and then stand up and leave. It's unlike anything I've ever experienced in architecture school, but it's bizarrely helpful in a way.

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This week, there are two lectures of significance. I hope they continue the high standard set last week by Craig Dykers, principal of the award winning Norwegian/American firm Snøhetta, who delivered a fantastic lecture at CUA. One of my favorite lines was, "I have never seen anyone enter a building, drop to their knees and exclaim, 'My God, what a fantastic concept!'" You could feel the academics in the room squirming, but the students loved it. Claudio was unamused. 

Tomorrow, the National Building Museum (mercifully unaffected by the shutdown) will host Japanese architect Toyo Ito, the 2013 Pritzker Prize laureate. Mr Ito, perhaps to the chagrin of Mr Dykers, is devoted to a highly conceptual view of architecture. I will say flat out that I dislike most, if not all of his built works. However, it is still an incredible opportunity to hear from such an icon in the profession. And I find most architects are much less polemical than their buildings, allowing principles to be extracted from their words that perhaps get obscured by their architecture. I am hoping this is the case.

Lastly, our friend Claudio Silvestrin will be lecturing on Thursday evening at the Italian Embassy. The studio is all a-flutter over this particular outing. Such excitement occurs when students are promised good Italian food and wine at the reception following the lecture. So, it promises to be a good evening mingling with the Italians.

*     *     *

I am reading Les Miserables. I am about 200 pages in (of 1200-something). It is very good so far. I appreciate the digressions (sometimes chapters long) that Hugo delves into. They add a layer of authenticity to the narrative. I am also intrigued by many of the Catholic themes I am picking up on throughout the story. I say intrigued because Victor Hugo was decidedly anti-clerical (most clearly exemplified in The Hunchback of Notre Dame). But that is neither here nor there at the moment.

*     *     *

Catholic society is rather abuzz here in Washington because of the new chapter of Juventutem that is being launched under the auspices of the new Oratory-in-Formation at St Thomas in Woodley Park. Juventutem is an youth apostolate devoted to the traditional Latin mass. I am very pleased that such a group is being established here. They will be sponsoring a Solemn High Mass of Requiem on All Soul's Day that I look forward to attending. 

In other news, Cardinal Wuerl, our esteemed archbishop, was on campus today to see projects done by fourth-year architecture students during their time in Rome last spring. The site for their project was the piazza outside San Pietro in Vincoli, which is Cardinal Wuerl's titular church in Rome. He was happy to see all of the projects and tell stories about the church itself and the relics it holds (namely, St. Peter's chains). He also discussed the conclave a bit - most specifically the electric excitement the cardinals felt after electing Francis.