Scenes From Life on the Road

Lunch with my dearie! (At the Radisson Warwick Hotel in Philadelphia.) 

We're masters of the blurry photo lately.

I'm on a boat! 

I wish I had my flippie-floppies for this gorgeous 80-degree day in Greenville, North Carolina.

I went to put my shoes on and - gasp! - it was a surprise magic rainbow on the floor. 

This made me so happy that I took approximately 37 photos of it.

Dan's spruced up merchandise table at Motorco Music Hall in Durham, North Carolina.

I made the 2 for $12 sign! Though my favorite part is still the mini easel that holds all his digital download cards.

Railroad tracks cut through the center of Greensboro, North Carolina.

Dan shared the stage with THIS awesome band last night! (At Smith's Olde Bar in Atlanta, Georgia.) Davina and the Vagabonds have a deliciously swingy, bluesy, ragtime sound that honestly blew me away: we were so sad when we couldn't stick around to listen to the end of their set. Sigh. Their retro sound and style is, in a word, awesome.

P.S. Do you have any favorite photography apps? 

All I have are Hipstamatic and Instagram, 

which leaves me feeling woefully out of the techie loop. 

Washington D.C.: Under Construction

The Washington Memorial on a clear, sunny day.

So . . . I kind of put off writing a post about Washington D.C. for a little while (okay, so it was a long while - Dan and I had already left by February 29th) because I really had no idea what I wanted to say about the capital of my nation. (I wrote MY nation totally by accident; it's sort of like the time Dan caught me singing "It Had to Be You" except I was, unintentionally, singing "It had to be meee . . . wonderful meee . . ." like a drunken peacock even though I was 100% sober. Good thing he can laugh off my slight case of megalomania with such tender nicknames as "Napoleona"; my overgrown toddler stature doesn't do much to help.)

The Pacific part of the National World War II memorial.

After a few weeks' contemplation - and thanks to a really thoughtful question from reader Eva W. - I realized that the reason why I had trouble writing about D.C. was because I found it sort of . . . underwhelming. For example, European capitals like Vienna or Rome or especially Paris feel really grand in the sense that this place is not only the seat of power for the government, but also impressive in that they show off what the Austrian or Italian or French people are capable of building: the architecture is elaborate, stunning. The streets are filled with fashionable people in artistic vignettes. The atmosphere buzzes with excitement and fresh ideas. But D.C. feels . . . different.

A lone protestor camps out across from the White House.

The architecture is gray, gloomy: each memorial is more somber than the last. (Don't get me wrong: veterans both past and present deserve those monuments and more for the sacrifices they've made for this country.) Each person seemed to be wearing the same navy or black suit. For the most part, the city center seemed empty of anything other than office buildings. 

I found this cutie fella in front of the White House!

Buuut . . . there are definitely cool neighborhoods to be found. Georgetown is totally charming, and is filled with adorable boutiques and more than one cupcake bakery (bonus!). The U Street neighborhood has some amazing eateries - Dan and I had wicked good tacos at Richard Sandoval's El Centro D.F. (do yourself a favor and order the Mojito Mexicano - OMG yum). The city itself is under an incredible amount of construction, and I'm willing to place some bets that it'll lead to a lot more cool, fun stuff for cool, fun people - and all the stodgy folks can stay at home with their C-Span. Hooray!

On Having Fun

Two champs: Rocky . . . and me.

Hi guys. (In my voice I sound exactly like Ross from Friends when he does that bedraggled, sad puppy thing. You know what I'm talking about. Don't pretend like you don't.) Yeah, hi.

Anyway, I've been feeling a little less than funny lately . . . maybe you've noticed. I think you probably did; it's likely that the lack of poop jokes on this here bloggy had you feeling, I don't know, mature or something. Pish. Go sip your Scotch in that rocking chair, Grandpa! I'm just gonna hang out here with a hula hoop and my birthday suit, PBR in hand AS IT SHOULD BE. (Nothing against Scotch drinkers, though: even Dan likes Scotch and he's pretty okay. I mean, we're getting married and all, so he must be. Jessica/Kulicking; he's awesome; he's my best friend; I love him.)

I think I was feeling sort of unfunny because I've kind of had to be like a real grown-up lately AND IT WAS TOTALLY BUMMING ME OUT. I do so much better with life when I have absolutely zero responsibilities and owe nothing to nobody. (Double negative ≠ double rainbow.) I could just spend my days chasing butterflies and pretending to make daisy chains (except that they were always with dandelions because I just can't bring myself to pick flowers that haven't already fallen; it hurts my feelings to kill them, and besides, dandelions are weeds anyway) and talking in a British accent and generally flouncing around. It was fun; I was funny.

Blurry photos are always the best photos. In this case, at least.

And then: BOOM. I had responsibilities, deadlines, decisions to make. I became bogged down in a vortex of ickiness, and suddenly I was laying awake at night asking myself scary questions like: "Did I make the right choice?" "What if I had . . .?" and of course the dreaded "Am I good enough?" There's nothing like comparing yourself to other, more successful people to really get yourself motivated. (<--- Just kidding, don't do this; this is a really bad move.)

Needless to say, the bitching was rampant there may have been some minor complaining. My dark thoughts were taking me away from enjoying the here and now, and we all know that's no good. Dan would gently remind me that we have a whole gorgeous country to see, cool people to meet, and incredible stories to hear and, hopefully, write. We COULD do it and we sure as poop didn't need to follow any arbitrary rules imposed on us by ourselves or anyone else. And doggone it, we ARE good enough! Or, as I put it to myself as I was getting out of the shower this morning:

I'm so frickin' gold I'm PLATINUM baby!

And you know what? YOU ARE TOO. Thanks for being such phenomenal readers: every time you leave a comment, it makes my heart sing. Also: an angel gets her wings every time you become a Google follower. And by "angel gets her wings" I mean: I feel extremely grateful.

Have an awesome weekend. 

P.S. What do you do to get out of a funk?

Reading Terminal Market: In Photos

Right this way please, for Reading Terminal Market.

Reading Terminal Market is the country's oldest continuously operating farmers' market, with over 100 merchants offering fresh produce, meats, fish, groceries, ice cream, flowers, baked goods, crafts, books, clothing, and specialty and ethnic foods.

Signs and wonders at Reading Terminal Market.

The market got its name from its origins as a railroad terminal, and where the market stands now was once a state-of-the-art refrigerated storage area which allowed merchants to keep seasonal goods stocked all year round, for the very first time.

O.K. Produce - it's . . . okay. At Reading Terminal Market.

Of course, there are no longer any trains operating out of this station: the last one left for Lansdale in November 1984. This location is now a National Historic Landmark.

Lunchtime crowds at Reading Terminal Market.

Dan and I stopped here for lunch one afternoon: we wandered around for a while, marveling at the size and diversity of the market. It you're willing to brave the crowds, I really suggest going between noon and 2 PM, when thousands of nearby office workers flood the halls. The people watching is, frankly, some of the best I've ever seen.



Reading Terminal Market is located at 12th and Arch Streets, and is open Monday-Saturday from 8:00 AM until 6:00 PM. Sundays they are open from 9:00 AM until 5:00 PM, though some merchants will be closed.

Trip to Eastern State Penitentiary: In the Big House!

The formidable entrance to Eastern State Penitentiary.

Confession: I'm a little obsessed with touring prisons. I'm not even really sure why this compulsion exists in me: is it the intrigue behind why the imprisoned did what they did? Or the somber thought of what it might be like to lose all freedom? Maybe it's just a holdover from my college addiction to Law & Order: SVU (raise your hand if you ever turned watching that show into a drinking game: "Guys, guys! Take a shot every time Ice-T refers to "the hood!" Ah, good times). Anyway, I jumped at the chance to visit Philadelphia's most famous prison: Eastern State Penitentiary, a national historic landmark.

Smile for free hot chocolate!

Dan and I took their Winter Adventures tour, and despite the fact that it was approximately 65° F outside, they offered us free hot chocolate. HOORAY! We sucked ours down in about ten seconds flat, but decided not to ask for seconds because that would be rude. Sigh. Anyway, the tour was pretty awesome because I love history this place is HAUNTED! Like, for realz. One of the first things the tour guide told us was that in October they do a haunted house here called "Terror Behind the Walls," and it was voted the best haunted house in the country which, if you're anything like me, matters A LOT and adds about 17,000 points of street cred. BONUS: Eastern State Penitentiary is often shortened to ESP . . . wink wink, nudge nudge.

A glimpse into Al Capone's room at ESP.

Another super cool fact about ESP? They once held Al Capone as a prisoner here! And Willie Sutton! Although most of the cells are dilapidated and crumbling (after the prison closed in 1971, it began to deteriorate, left alone as it was to be battered by the elements and the inevitable squatters), Al Capone's cell has been meticulously reconstructed to appear as it was during his sentence there: a plush Oriental rug covers the cement floor, he has a beautiful carved wooden desk and, most importantly, a comfortable armchair to read in and a radio to listen to. His favorite music? Classical waltzes. Quite the character, that Capone was.

One of the latest additions to Eastern State,
added only twenty years before the prison closed for good.

One of the most interesting things we learned on the tour was that Eastern State was the origin for the word penitentiary; the word itself had been invented just for this particular institution. See, "penitentiary" comes from "penitence" - the architecture and program of ESP was designed to promote self-awareness and remorse within the hearts of the prisoners there. It's also the origin of solitary confinement, which was meant to be a more humane solution to the jailhouses that were common at the time: one room cells holding inmates that could brawl, gamble, and throw feces at will. No joke, guys: because that one room often housed dozens of prisoners with no place to relieve themselves, prisons became general centers of pestilence, infested with a variety of diseases. Ick.

Here are a few other fascinating facts I gleaned from the tour:

1. People begin to show signs of serious mental degradation after only three weeks of solitary confinement.

2. The United States accounts for less than 5% of the world population but nearly 25% of the world's prisoners; that is the highest incarceration in the world, with China a distant second.

3. Our high incarceration rates are partly due to sentence length; approximately half of our prisoners are being punished for non-violent crimes with sentences that stretch into years, and even decades.


4. Architecturally, Eastern State resembles a wagon wheel when viewed from above; the middle was the head office, where one officer could stand on guard and watch seven different "spokes," or halls of cells. This way, if there was a breakout, that one hall could be easily contained without disrupting any of the others.

Though, if you want to go (which you totally should by now), you could also just look for the giant Gothic fortress standing in the middle of a residential neighborhood. LOL.


Eastern State Penitentiary is located at 2027 Fairmount Avenue, Philadelphia. Our visit was made possible by Visit Philly, Philadelphia's official site for visitors and tourism information.

Visiting The Mutter Museum

The entrance to the Mütter Museum.

For lovers of the strange, the unusual, and the downright peculiar: the College of Physicians of Philadelphia Mütter Museum (let's just go ahead and shorten that up to "Mütter Museum," mmkay?) has a collection that will knock your freaky socks off (which I can only hope are emblazoned with rock 'n roll pirates, as mine are. I'll show them to you one day. Not today. But one day, for sure.).

The College of Physicians of Philadelphia is the oldest professional medical organization in the United States, and was founded in 1787 to "advance the science of medicine, and thereby lessen human misery." That right there should tell you A LOT about what's going on inside the museum: basically, it's a warehouse for bodies that can only be considered odd or anomalous. A quick rundown of some of the highlights:

• The skeleton of a man who was 7'6."
• An entire wall of skulls, many of them from toothless Hungarian men. 
• The oddly pitted and pockmarked bones of syphilis patients.
• Diseased and enlarged organs of nearly every type and variety (including a 40 lb. colon that earned its bearer the unfortunate nickname of "The Gas Bag"). 
• The death cast of the original "Siamese twins," Chang and Eng, whose autopsy was performed inside the museum.
• EINSTEIN'S BRAIN! ! !

Inside the Mütter Museum. Photo by B. Krist.

The exhibit on Einstein's brain was small but FASCINATING. Although science is not my forte (I'm more of a word nerd myself), I adore a good oddity and if ever there was a human aberration, well friends, he was it. Einstein insisted that his brain be made available for research upon his death, and it was found that his actually weighed 2 lbs. less than the average person's. It was also missing a particular small wrinkle (the parietal operculum) that most people have, which really speaks to doing more with less, don't you agree?

Now, I have a remarkably tough stomach for blood, guts, and general grotesqueries, but even I was feeling a bit queasy after two hours of roaming these halls (which are gorgeous oak and marble, btw - the building itself is an architectural GEM, I tell you). What I liked especially is that the Mütter Museum really does feel like a bastion of learning: each article is catalogued on yellowing, typewritten paper, the wood and glass display cases are early 20th century originals, and the floors are covered in a plush burgundy carpet - somehow all of this lends itself to the sensation that one is inside an Ivy League laboratory circa F. Scott Fitzgerald's time. It's somehow . . . gentlemanly. Just make sure you go on an empty stomach.


The Mütter Museum is located at 19 South 22nd Street Philadelphia. Our visit was made possible by Visit Philly, Philadelphia's official site for visitors and tourism information.