July Fourth

Stricken with a case of gout, Juan gimped his way through our second annual Washington DC July Fourth Celebration at the fabulous Shoreham Hotel. The hotel was just as opulent and borderline inappropriate as I remember, with the bell staff (all black, of course) in white uniforms and gloves opening doors and pushing luggage. Gotta’ love the south. Because the other Pinedas were in camp all day and I had a half day at work, we weren’t able to leave NJ until around four in the afternoon. After our annual pee break and pilgrimage to the Maryland House rest area on I-95, where Trish and I noshed on cheesy crab pretzels at Philips, we rolled into DC around ten. As spoiled New Yorkers, we were surprised to find most of the restaurants in the area closing up by the time we checked in and settled into our rooms. So sadly, our first celebratory vacation meal consisted of Chinese take-out. We did end up splurging for some yummy room service dessert - cupcake of the day (vanilla w/ fresh fruit) and a trio of crème brulees.

Gouty McGouterson and Val spent almost all day Saturday lounging in their caftans poolside while Trish and I hit the tourist trail aboard the Old Town Trolley. I’d highly recommend the all day pass, which basically let’s you wheel around all the city’s famous landmarks serenaded by the cheese-tastic ramblings of the trolley driver. The only drawback is that the trolley route is one way, which forced us to ride the complete circuit twice after missing our stop the first time around. We also spent part of our trip trapped on a near empty trolley with a Jersey couple who seemed equally uncomfortable with our driver’s crazy disclosure of random personal facts - awkward. They jumped ship at the first opportunity for an “impromptu” visit to the National Zoo (likely story). We feigned interest in the Georgetown mall to escape our weirdo driver and happily waited for the next trolley.

Highlight of the day? You guessed it, lunch! We gorged at The Burger Joint in DuPont Circle, a poor man’s version of NYC’s Chelsea gayborhood. I’ve deduced that all the hot DC dudes are vampires, since none were on display in the afternoon sunlight. Oh well, we got our beefcake at lunch where I ordered a huge bacon cheeseburger and Trish ordered the lobster roll. To our surprise and delight, our order of roasted garlic fries came topped with (gasp!) whole, roasted garlic cloves. Perhaps further evidence to support my vampire theory, given the odoriferous sent emanating from our pores following our gorge-fest. Dinner was almost as memorable, with Trish and I ordering an array of gourmet hot dogs from room service, including one topped with blue crab. I know, sounds nasty, but everything tastes better topped with crab (or bacon, or cheese, or deep-fried!).

With Juan still out of commission Saturday night, Trish and I decided to check out the nightlife in DC’s current party spot, Adams Morgan. Conveniently located walking distance from our hotel, we followed the steady stream of tramps and preppies emerging from the nearby Metro station to Columbia Street, the hub of Adams Morgan. We found several blocks of back-to-back bars, cafes, restaurants and hookah joints populated by drunk skanks and douchie frat boys partying the night away, obviously looking to get laid. Heaven - if I were 15 years younger. Unfortunately, the median age of the revelers was well below my cut-off age. So Trish and I contented ourselves with people watching and scouting out likely restaurant choices for a daytime visit. On our trek back to the hotel, several bimbettes-in-training enlivened our trip with their attempt to walk the half-mile route slightly inebriated and in 3-inch stilettos. Girls, please, either practice at home or donate those fuck-me pumps to a pole dancer or homeless drag queen.

Since Juan spent all day Saturday recuperating, we decided to take a Sunday morning trip to the nearby National Zoo. Of course, we still had to get gramps a wheel chair since he couldn’t handle all the walking. As the older brother, I inherited the role of wheelchair custodian. Not too difficult a chore given that the zoo is built on the downward slope of a hill. Unfortunately, it wasn’t until reaching the bottom that we realized I would have to push all two-hundred-plus pounds of gimpy boy back up to the top, not a simple task in 100 degree plus weather. Oh well, at least we benefited from the wheel chair pity factor and easily pushed to the front of every exhibit.

After our zoo expedition, we treated ourselves to a long, relaxed lunch at Tryst, a trendy Adams Morgan bistro Trish and I spotted the night before. The vibe was very East Village and we wiled away most of the afternoon people watching and nibbling. That night, as has become our custom, instead of watching the fireworks live, we slipped into our PJ’s, ordered some pizza and wings and watched the concert and fireworks on TV. I know it seems lame, but lying in your underwear with a slice of pizza in an air-conditioned hotel room versus fighting sweaty crowds for a tiny plot of grass hours before the show? - seems like a no brainer to me.

Monday morning we loaded up at the hotel’s gourmet all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet before heading home. In a fun coincidence, are server was the waiter who served us at last year's BBQ buffet disaster!  We had a great laugh teasing him about it and he informed us the manager in charge of last year's fiasco was "no longer working here."  Oh well.  We thanked him again and told him we'd be seeing him next year.