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I just put down The Great Gatsby (re-reading after 5-10 years) to polish off a bottle of Moon Mountain Sauvignon Blanc with Curtis, paired with bee stings (custard-filled honey buns) from Sweet Melissa.  Before that, we headed to Union Market to pick up some fresh ingredients to make spicy chicken tacos (Curtis made them) with guacamole (I made it!) and corn relish (looked good at the market). We cooked and ate and drank and listened to music, and it was all a fitting prelude to my Gatsby revival. I’d also like to note that the Gatsby purchase came from a HUGE bookstore called Strand, on 12th St. and Broadway in Manhattan. Austin and Susana, some of my more literary friends, tipped me off to its existence. I got the book for $5.95, and an awesome logo tote for not much more than that. I think Fitzgerald would approve of the day’s activities.

I’m convinced the train is the best way to travel, ever. It’s roomy, quiet, fast, easy to trek luggage, and most importantly, it’s low-stress. It is not, however, cheap. I’m still inclined to make it our transportation of choice when embarking on all our East Coast expeditions in the coming months. Even if flights are cheaper, Amtrak is worth the extra cost for convenience. P.S. The subway home from Amtrak at 2:30am is less luxurious.

We made it to Camden Yards this weekend. What a ballpark! It was the perfect mix of old and new stadiums — not as pretentious as AT&T (Giants), not as decrepit as McAfee (A’s).

Plus, Saul knew of a great BBQ place in the outfield. Too bad the A’s got their butts kicked.

Random observation: There are NO restaurants/cafes/non-touristy things on The Mall.  We were totally famished during our sightseeing, and our only options were overpriced food carts and way overpriced museum cafes. I guess we’re spoiled in NYC where you never have to go a block without a decent food option.

NYC didn’t truly feel like home until this weekend. It took a few days in a different city before I identified my own city as home.

Which leads me to this thought: Can we only really comprehend something in relation to something else? Of course, that’s paradoxical — if it takes a different thing to understand the original, you can’t understand the different thing without comparing that to yet another different thing, and on and on. But I digress.

I’ve caught myself using comparisons a bunch lately to judge, explain, cope even. I often tell people I love riding the subway, even though some people find it unsavory. At least I don’t have to commute during rush hour, I say. Yet last week I found myself going from uptown to downtown during rush hour, and it was a completely different, less pleasant experience (duh). When people warn me about NYC summers, I say at least I don’t have to deal with a climate as hot and humid as D.C. Yet there I was this weekend walking around Washington in 90+ heat with high humidity, completely miserable. Or my ever-increasing anxiety over flying “solo” from JFK to LAX next month for the wedding/cruise — at least I’m not flying in one of THESE things (a small pod-like one-seater with paper-airplane-like wings), as I said to myself at the air and space museum today. They may not fly me to LA in a pod, but maybe the turbulence will be so bad that I’ll feel like I’m in one.

What do we do when we use comparisons to reassure ourselves, then we find ourselves on the bad end of our own statements of relativity? Do we take the comparisons a step further — at least the subway didn’t get stuck/I’m not in New Delhi where it’s 115/the plane didn’t have to divert to another airport — or give up using comparisons altogether, for fear of ending up in a situation that is our worse-case scenario? Notice I said “worse,” not “worst.”

In a world where there are so many options, paths, situations, it’s hard to say something is the best or worst, all we can do is compare it to other things we’ve experienced and can therefore fathom in our own terms.

In conclusion, I may not be the best writer, but I’m certainly better than Curtis.

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Eyelids drooping down
The slow rocking of the train
The world whizzes past.