The Williamsburg Pottery

(Backdated from Friday evening.)

One of the family traditions when we visit our relatives in Williamsburg, Virginia, is to venture out to Williamsburg Pottery, which bills itself as "The World's Largest Bizarre Bazaar."  I have photographic evidence:

The Pottery was founded in the thirties by a entrepreneur with a roadside stand selling Williamsburg's distinctive salt-glaze pottery.  The business was successful, and he turned Williamsburg Pottery into a large-scale outlet retail operation dedicated to cutting out the middle man and passing the savings onto the customer.  Eventually he married a Chinese woman who worked in the fake flower section; she took over the business upon his death and has since injected lots of East Asian goods into the mix.  Needless to say, "bizarre bazaar" is a perfectly accurate statement, and although I can't confirm the veracity of its claim the be the largest such bizarre - err, bazaar...sorry - it's pretty large nonetheless.

How large?  Well, does this give you any idea?  This is a shot down an aisle in the Solar Building, the largest of the several enormous warehouses that make up the complex (of which you can see an aerial picture here).  I took this in the fake flower section, which goes on for what seems like miles.  It's even odder for someone like me, who wouldn't buy fake flowers in a million years, to go roaming through aisle upon aisle of things I have no desire to even consider purchasing.  This, it turns out, is the best way to approach a retail operation of this size - with clearly designated preferences.  Skip what you aren't interested in and go find whatever it is you came for (in my case, things for me apartment, which I promise to introduce to you all soon).

Of course, periodically you'll stumble across something which you would never contemplate buying, but which is so odd, unique, bizarre, or fascinating that you can't help but stop for a moment and examine it.  It is this sort of thing that I dedicate this post to - I'll have another for some of the odd signs I saw around the Pottery tomorrow.

First off, something one might potentially have use for: a fake Christmas tree.  As an apartment-dweller who enjoys the decorative trappings of the Christmas season, I imagine I'll needs to invest in a fake tree eventually.  Just not this one:

That's right - it's purple.  In fact, it's approximately the same color as the purple accent wall in my living room.  I intend to paint that wall over the weekend, so obviously I don't want this particular tree.

Now, I was never one of the hip kids who toyed with the Eastern religions in college, so I'm not quite certain which religion this next curiosity pertains to:

Whatever religion it belongs to, I imagine that this would go well in the makeshift temple in your backyard, don't you think?  (Incidentally, this is one of a pair.  I don't know if it's buy-one-get-one though.)

Speaking of the backyard, I understand that it occasionally comes to pass that you just want a drink.  A very large one, just for you.  Understandably, you feel guilty pouring yourself glass after glass of wine - you look like a drunkard in one of those badly-acted anti-alcoholism videos they showed us in health class in high school during freshman year (remember?  And then the sympathetic character always ended up dying in an alcohol-related car crash).  But thanks to Williamsburg Pottery, there's a tactful solution to your needs.  You want a drink but don't want to pour glass after glass?  Then limit yourself a single glass of wine:

Did I say pour yourself a single glass?  I did?  My bad - I meant bottle.

Now I've saved the best for last, and this item is unique, because it is one of the very few pieces at the Pottery which isn't for sale.  Nevertheless it is exquisite, so I'll blow up the picture:

I'm not certain what the material is - I'd like to think it's ivory from an aesthetic point of view, but my inner conservationist cringes at the idea of how many tusks it would take to carve something this large (it's as long as I am tall - nearly six feet, and by the way, there's some of the Williamsburg salt glaze pottery in the background).  But whatever it's made of, I found it fascinating.  The details are impeccable:

This is a close-up of the center-piece of this sculpture (click to see it full size).  The ribbing on the roof, the pagoda in the background, each individual figure carved to perfection, and that gateway is actually supported by the four pillar you can see - no cheating that I could detect.  It's not something you would expect to see in the world's largest bargain basement (except above-ground).  Of course, this is the world's largest "bizarre bazaar," so I guess we should expect things like this.  Still, I could go for a lot more of this and a lot less of the fake flowers.

And how about this shot below, of the cave?  Whatever artist or artists were responsible for this oeuvre actually carved things inside the cave too - that beautiful ornamental screen in the background, servants off to the sides, dancing girls in front, and an ornate

balustrade separating the entertainers from their audience on the dais...I imagine it's probably chintzy more than anything else (which is generally my reaction to cheap East Asian trinkets), but every time we've been to the Pottery we find this sculpture and stop for a moment to admire it.  A lot changes between our visits, but this is always in the same place, and we always stop to marvel.

Although this sculpture never changes, other things at the Pottery do. Perhaps it's because I had a camera with me, or because I was kind of looking for blog-worthy things while roaming around, but one of the changes I noticed the most was the signs.  Specifically, the bad signs.  This post is quite long enough, but tomorrow I'll put together my pictures of odd and awful signs for you to peruse and giggle over.  Think of it as Cake Wrecks for signage...

Pictures from Williamsburg

(Backdated from Tuesday evening.)

Today we spent the day in lovely Colonial Williamsburg, one of my favorite examples of historic preservation in the US (and I've been to quite a few).  It was a hot, dry day, and the historic quarter was pretty quiet, most likely because this is the awkward period after vacations have ended for most people but before school has been in session long enough for school trips to have happened.  Rather than blather, though, I'll let a few of my pictures speak for themselves.

This sort of house is everywhere in the historic district.  Modest and unassuming, they are nevertheless charming in their simplicity.  Most buildings here are owned by the Colonial Williamsburg Foundation, which staffs them with historical interpreters, but some houses are owned by private individuals.  Can you imagine living here?

The monumental Governor's Palace, which was the seat of the English governor of Virginia colony prior to the revolution, is located at the north end of a long green and is one of the first major buildings visitors see when they come in from the visitors' center in the east.  One must buy a pass to get inside the historic buildings like this one, which we've done before, so we didn't bother this time, but the palace gardens are exquisite, and include a small lake.  Inside is a working summer kitchen, a ballroom, bedrooms, and so on, all decorated as hey would have been in colonial times.  It's worth noting that when we think "governor" we think of an elected politician, but British colonial governors were appointed and served at the pleasure of the king.  In this sense they could be considered viceroys, and thinking of the Governor's Palace as viceregal gives a good sense of the degree of lavishness, especially in comparison to the rest of the city.

In keeping with how things were back in 1776, which is the historical moment Colonial Williamsburg relives every day, many of the houses have accompanying gardens, either formal and ornamental like this one or rough and practical.  The ornamental gardens are divided into patterns by paths and planted with flowers and aromatic shrubs, often bordered by stiff boxwood hedges.  Those non-brick paths which look like gravel are actually crushed oyster shells, which could be had in great abundance since Williamsburg is just up the James  River from the ocean.

This is one of the pragmatic gardens - call it a kitchen garden, since it's devoted to food.  As you can see, it's much rougher than the formal garden.  In the middle of the bed in the midground are leeks and (I think) peppers, and the spiky bushes in the background are rosemary.  Off on the right edge of the picture was a patch of very sad (dehydrated) squash.  In the foreground you can see rhubarb and marigolds.

This is the Bruton Parish Church, which has been in operation since it was built during the colonial era.  As one would expect, it is Episcopal (descended, obviously, from the Church of England) and is still a functioning parish community.  Beyond the church is a graveyard, some of whose occupants are older than this country.  They say it's haunted, but what isn't in a place as old as this one?

I leave you with one of the odder signs which hangs outside the white clapboard buildings.  Presumably this is for a pub, but I'm at a loss as to what the pub must have been named, since there's a buck's head, a well, and pear trees on it.  Then again, it probably made for some unique branding...

Vacation and Resolution

My apartment is clean (enough), some lovely new furniture has been ordered from Target (not enough, but I'm on a budget), and my landlady and I see eye to eye (I think).  So, to crown off what has actually shaped up to be a pretty good day, I'm now in my cousins' home in Williamsburg, Virginia, with the rest of my family on a mini-vacation.  We are all quite fond of Colonial Williamsburg (though not the way it's run), and there's an amazing outlet store here where I may be able to find some neat things for my apartment.  We'll probably do both tomorrow, and I may even take pictures.

Makeshift Oubliettes

(This post is backdated from early Sunday afternoon.  I had such a nice unbroken stream from the blog's beginning that I wanted to continue it - even if it means cheating a little.)

An oubliette, according to my dictionary, is a certain type of dungeon with an opening only in the ceiling.  The word comes from the French verb oublier, which means "to forget."  This is what you would do to the prisoner deposited into the dungeon through the hole in the roof.  I intend to do the same.

Since I'm not allowed to install a dungeon pit in my apartment (I don't think my downstairs neighbor would appreciate it), I'm constructing makeshift oubliettes in which to deposit some of the things which came with this apartment that I'd like to forget about.  Such as what? you ask.  Such as the broken drain plug from the bathtub (I have no way to stop it up) and from the bathroom sink (ditto), the tangle of cables for the TV (I haven't got a TV), and the ugly mosquito-netting room-divider-curtain that my landlady decided to leave behind (but she had to remove the curtain rods).  So I've designated two hard-to-get-to storage spaces, one in the bathroom and one in the hall closet, as oubliettes.  I'm going to wad up the offending items, wrap them in plastic bags, and drop them in the dungeons until they starve to death.

We have been cleaning all day, and the whole family is fed up.  We've made very good progress, but almost none of the work we've been doing is work we should have to do - it should have been done before we got here.  Tomorrow we're going to go down to Williamsburg to visit family and decompress, since we're all sick and tired of cleaning - and ammonia fumes.

To compensate for my fed-up-ness in my own idiosyncratic way - pictures to come - I impulse-bought an African violet.  It looks very nice on my freshly-cleaned windowsill.  It makes me think that everything is going to be just fine, once the cleaning is done.  But I feel like it (the African violet, not the windowsill or the feeling that everything's gonna be all right*) ought to have a name - any thoughts?  We have named one of the kitchen cabinets - the one under the counter on the right of the stove whose little door betrays the vast space behind it (the entire corner of the kitchen, really).  In the process of cleaning and re-papering all the cabinets, the vastness and darkness of this one in the corner have earned it the nickname "The Black Hole of Calcutta," which I intend to use in the future (the origin of the term can be found here).  I haven't decided if I'll shorten it to "Black Hole" or "Calcutta" yet, but I do think the name has a certain ring to it.  Now what about that African violet?

*Music reference, anybody?

Day 1 in Washington: The Lady's Not For Cleaning

I have arrived in one piece in my apartment in Washington, neatly dodging an accident half a block north which must have occurred just minutes after we arrived and necessitated closing off the street and ending with fireworks over the river (couldn't see them from my balcony, but I sure could hear them.  Someone tell me, why do we have fireworks on August 27th?).  We had a lovely dinner at a huge seafood restaurant on the river (just blocks away) and got inside the shiny new Safeway.  I have only one complaint: cleaning.

How can I put this kindly?  My apartment is...not clean.  The kitchen is the most egregious offender - the cabinets are sticky, the refrigerator dusty with brown gunk in the bottom, the broiler pan in the oven ashen, and the front of the dishwasher, and the wall, stained.  I refuse to put any of my food or dishes inside the cabinets until I have thoroughly disinfected them, and the only reason anything is in the fridge is because it's been given the once-over with Clorox wipes.  It appears, further, that someone has waxed the linoleum floor, thus trapping dirt underneath the wax, so the only way to get it clean is to strip the floor.  Ditto in the bathroom (except it's tile), and both the plug in the sink and the bathtub are broken and unusable, the floor behind the toilet dirty, and the door refuses to shut.  The windows are smudged, the curtain rods missing (who rents an apartment without curtains?!), the purple accent wall is unevenly painted, and the mirrors on the mirrored wall (yes, I know, cringe) are cockeyed. 

I had intended to write something much more mild-mannered than that, but I am not happy.  The fact of the matter is that all of this, with perhaps the exception of the paint and the mirrors, should have been taken care of before I moved in.  I do not believe that this apartment was cleaned in any sort of thorough manner.  So never mind that I need to get furniture - apparently I also have to spend a couple of days cleaning the place first.  I am very grateful that my parents are here to help, but I can't imagine that they're enjoying this any more than I am.  I do not mean to simply recite a litany of complaints, but I don't think I should have to do this kind of work.  Now I'm going to go to bed, so I have enough energy tomorrow to continue this ordeal.  Once the cleaning is done I imagine I'll be a lot happier, but for the time being this is definitely a Trial and Tribulation.

Cross-Country Drive, Part II: Seen in Ohio

This evening I'm in Hagerstown, Maryland, a bit more than a hour north of the District of Columbia - tomorrow we drive down and I move in.  A pretty uneventful - if uncomfortable - drive, and alas, I don't have anything quite as funny as yesterday to share in the way of signs.  I did, however, see an advertisement for Schlepp's Family Restaurant, and I sincerely hope that they have an ad which advises potential patrons to "Schlepp on over the Schlepp's" ("schlepp," of course, being the Yiddish for hauling oneself somewhere, usually unwillingly).  Since this was in Ohio, I don't know how well that would fly, but I think it would be hilarious.

It may be early, but I'm off to bed.  We need to get up early to make it into DC with sufficient time to move.  If I manage to get my internet to work (UPS says my modem has been delivered, but I'm only vaguely hopeful that I'll be able to get my internet to actually function) I'll post something tomorrow.  Wish me more luck - it's been working so far!

Cross-Country Drive, Part I: Seen in Indiana

I'm writing from a hotel in Richmond, Indiana, just west of the Ohio border on the highway to Columbus.  It was not a comfortable drive; our van is packed like it's never been packed before.  I spent the second half of the afternoon sitting essentially sideways, since the space where my feet are supposed to be is full of stuff.  Needless to say, we're all suffering in one way or another, but it's that or throw things out, and I've pared down my possessions about as much as I can.  Fortunately, we've only got one full day (tomorrow) and about a third of a day on Friday, and all the paperwork at my apartment complex (which is actually a co-op) has finally been ironed out, so we shouldn't have any nasty surprises once we get to DC.

Although we had a pretty uneventful drive, there's one thing I have to show you that puts me in a curious state of delight and horror.

Here it is:

See that there?  See the guy's name?  You do?  OK, now breathe.  I wouldn't want you to hyperventilate.

Well, this particular businessman has quite a few billboards in this part of Indiana, and apparently does a roaring business in RV's and other related ventures (like homes - just Google his name).  If you'd like another serving of Schadenfreude, here's his website.  My particular favorite - besides this picture - is a billboard which proclaimed "Welcome to Tom Raper Country!" or something like that.  I nearly died laughing, and maybe you will too.  I imagine that the poor man pronounces his name "rah-per" or something like that, but I don't envy him.  Of course, he appears to be a very successful businessman, so maybe he doesn't care.  But there will always be irreverent people like me who snicker at things like this.  I'm rather glad I saw it - it gave me something to think about besides what (who) I'm leaving behind in Chicago and my aching knees.

Our plan tomorrow is to get to Maryland, so we'll be within striking distance of the District.  Hopefully I'll be able to write something there - maybe I'll even have another funny sign to share!

And We're Off!

...well, not quite.  But we're in the final stages, and I need to pack the computer.  I'll try to update on the way - wish me luck!

Countdown: 1 Day, or Reverse Migration

Tomorrow my family and I will load my worldly possessions - well, those that I brought to Chicago, anyway, since I left a lot of books in WI - into the van and begin a journey.  Up until now, the farthest I had moved was here to Chicago, and the only time I've lived outside of the Midwest was four months in Germany (not as different as you might think, though perhaps I say that because I am German - by descent, at least).  Tomorrow I set off for the nation's capital - what an adventure!

What strikes me as particularly interesting - and my mother, the genealogist, has pointed it out repeatedly - is that in a sense I'm retracing steps.  Mom's ancestors on the paternal side were Scottish, and when they came to this country, they settled in Virginia.  Eventually they moved west, through the Cumberland Gap and went to Kentucky, then on to Missouri.  Mom's Dad then moved up to Wisconsin with his wife to teach music at my undergraduate college.  So that cycle - Virginia to Mid-South to Midwest - is being reversed by my move - Midwest through the Mid-South to the District of Columbia, which is practically Virginia (yes, I know that the land that makes up the district used to belong to Maryland, not Virginia). 

In preparation for the move I've been packing, as evidenced in the last few posts, and I've got more to do this afternoon.  I've already unraveled internet (and, it turns out, local phone, which I'll need to operate the remote access on the door, since I don't intend to traipse down three floors every time someone comes to visit like I've had to in Chicago), taken a [tearful] leave of the boy, and packed most of the apartment.  There is, however, more to do, so off I'll go.  In future I'll write posts that are actually interesting, I imagine, but for the time being (since time is short), modest progress updates will have to do.

Countdown: 4 Days, or Caught in the Middle, & More...

Caught in the middle of an impending mess, that is.

I'm taking a few minutes' break to set a few things straight, not least why I'm bothering to write a blog in the first place.  Also, my apartment is hot, and I need to cool down, so I'll multitask- cool off and get some writing done.  Pour out the ice water and crank Sophie Ellis-Bextor, as I have, while I explain what's going on here.

I've been living on the south side of Chicago for just shy of a year now, attending university.  I now have a graduate degree in international relations and, thanks to it, a job in Washington, DC.  So the reason I've been complaining about packing for the past week is my impending move out east next week.  I don't like moving, so I'm not looking forward to it, and I'm not enjoying the packing either.

In any case, while I've been in Chicago I've wanted to keep a blog about my experiences and adventures there.  I attempted, but the university soon quashed my attempts to have any life whatsoever outside of schoolwork, and so the blog was left untended for long periods of time (you can see my efforts here).  But now that I'm moving to Washington for a job - not for school - I anticipate something revolutionary: being able to leave my place of work at a fixed hour, and not have to bring any of the work home with me.  In other words, I anticipate having a life of my own again.  Since I'll be not just in a new city but a new part of the country (I am a Midwesterner born and bred), I intend to explore, and to chronicle my adventures I'll keep this blog.  This is as much for me as for you - it's like keeping a journal that I can read later and remember all the things I saw and did and thought once upon a time.  And if you've come here, you can read them too.

What can you expect of Tales from Federal City?  Essentially, a chronicle of my adventures in DC, my discoveries, and my explorations (incidentally, much like a friend from the university, who is doing the same for his time teaching English in Japan with the JET program).  In keeping with my established tradition from Chicago and Tales from Second City (note the similar blog titles - it's intentional), I'll also write about my experiments in the kitchen (culinary adventures, inspired by a high school and college classmate's own endeavors here), review art/music/culture events I attend, and share what I uncover about the history of the city, its neighborhoods, and so on.  You can also expect some talk of politics as I figure out what's what in the District, and also photos of my discoveries, from restaurants to museums to public monuments and parks.  I may even attempts to form essays (creative non-fiction, I suppose) from some of the things I've learned, much in the style of a talented undergrad classmate, whose eloquent blog about her experiences as a Watson fellow you can read here.

I am not under any illusions that his will become a heavily-trafficked corner of the internet, which is one reason I don't intend to install a hit counter or try to figure out if people are paying any attention me, but I'd rather not have it confirmed that no one reads what I write, so I'll remain in the blissful ignorance which Blogger facilitates by not having a hit counter feature (which is actually pretty lame - WordPress has one).  However, if you do stop by and read something, let me know what you think - leave a comment or a link, and feel free to come back frequently.  I hope to be able to write something about every other day, more or less, though my actual balance of time remains to be determined.  Still, I hope to have fun with this and have something to look back on later, and perhaps I'll even entertain you as well.

Well, time to head back to my boxes and newspaper.  I'm going to start wrapping up my kitchen (ugh).  Wish me luck.

Countdown: 8 Days, or Packing is Exhausting

Having found that the suitcase I packed to take back to Wisconsin was too heavy to lift (thanks to all the books I'm jettisoning at my parents'), I repacked it and packed another bag, in addition to doing my laundry, filing a new vacancy announcement with the university property managers (more difficult that it needed to be), taking out trash and recycling, sorting through all sorts of papers, and cooking dinner for myself and the boy.  I am exhausted and have nothing more to say.

Countdown: 9 Days, or I Hate Packing

It's been official for a while, but now that the number of days before I leave the Windy City has sunk into the single digits, it's time to face facts: I'm moving farther than I have ever moved before, and I haven't even started packing.  Yikes!

I should be clear that this is not a sudden realization.  I had suspected that I would be moving to Washington beginning in February, when I found out I had been named a Presidential Management Fellow finalist (a what?), along with three friends in Chicago and lots of other high-powered newly-minted-holders-of-advanced-degrees from around the country.  Once the job offer finally came through in June (in the middle of the World Cup game between Greece and Argentina, as it so happened), I knew I'd be heading out to the District of Columbia eventually.  Now that start dates, apartments, leases, and all the other major necessities are taken care of, the time has come to actually move.  And I haven't started packing.

Why?  Well, first, because I didn't have boxes, although that's really not the reason - I could have gotten them earlier, couldn't I?  (The answer is "yes.")  I suspect it's because I don't like living somewhere that feels empty, so I've been avoiding the inevitable dismantlement of my little studio because putting things in boxes makes my apartment feel empty - or, at least it always did when moving out of dorms.  Or perhaps I'm afraid of blank walls (I always take down my maps, posters, flags, and postcards last).  Or - and this is the most likely answer - today is the first day in about two weeks that it hasn't been around ninety degrees in my studio (which, of course, is on the top floor of the building, faces south, and doesn't have air conditioning).  Whatever the reason - Mother Nature's fury, or some combination of angst and laziness on my part - I know full well that I have to start packing.  So, this afternoon/evening, I intend to box up my books. 

About half my collection is actually going back up to Wisconsin with me later this week to be deposited in the family home and [perhaps] retrieved piecemeal as I return for holidays (or, more likely, I'll have boxes of books shipped out once I have monies).  The other half - from Edward Said's Orientalism and Bob Pape's Dying to Win to the King James Bible (with woodcuts) and the Decameron - it's all going into boxes.  I have to depopulate my shelves anyway, because the one piece of furniture in this apartment that I actually own won't fit in the car (unless I decide to leave, oh, my clothes behind), so it's going to go earn its keep at my [almost former] boyfriend's apartment as, eventually, will my microwave (but in this case, because my apartment has one already).  If I pack in smaller installments, I'll minimize stress for me and, hopefully, not have to face an empty apartment until the last day or two.  Expect, however, blog posts between now and then - they help me procrastinate.