As part of our ongoing quest to minimize our impact, John and I decided recently to do away with paper napkins and use cloth napkins instead. Even though you still use energy to clean the cloth napkins, we reasoned, at least you're not throwing them away after one use. After I spent a lot of time scouring the vast interwebs for suitable, serviceable napkins, I called my parents. I knew that they had a lot of cloth napkins that they didn't use, and I figured that if they were willing to part with some of them, that was better than bringing brand new napkins into the system. They readily agreed to send us some of their spares, but then came the question I didn't anticipate: "And you'll also need napkin rings, right?" I always thought that napkin rings were a bit too frou-frou for me, and we're not really frou-frou people, so I turned them down. "Oh, no," I said, feeling very down-to-earth, "I don't get into that." They should have laughed me off the phone, but they didn't. Napkin rings, my parents carefully explained, aren't just for show. The idea behind cloth napkins, they said, is that they can be used again and again over the course of a few days. Because they don't get very dirty, they don't need to be washed after every meal. The purpose of napkin rings, then, is so that you know which one is yours. I was astonished. Who knew?!? This is the kind of knowledge that's dying these days. This is the kind of knowledge that isn't getting used, much less passed on from generation to generation. And it kills me because this is the very kind of knowledge that would enable us to step a little lighter on the planet. Napkin rings. Who knew?

I'm not a complainer. Let me rephrase that: I'm not one to complain to anyone who can actually remedy the situation. I don't send food back when it's gross; I don't call the insurance people when our (cough *overpriced*) insurance doesn't cover a routine exam; hell, I don't even complain to the parking lot attendant when he overcharges me (which doesn't happen that often, to be honest). And, clearly, I don't complain to a bed and breakfast owner whose bed is breaking my back and whose breakfast I've not tasted but have been made to feel guilty for missing. That said, and as this blog clearly evidences, I'll complain loudly and often to anyone else who'll listen. Why is that? I know I'm not alone in this trait, this willingness to go along to get along, to not make waves, to make lemonade, and so on and so forth. Why do so many of us seem perfectly happy to whine about our problems to anyone but those who ought to know about them?

So, I subscribe to a number of history-related mailing lists (let the mocking begin). It helps me keep abreast (insert Beavis laugh, and extra points if you know who Beavis is) of the job market, new publications, upcoming conferences, and whatnot. Translation: it's usually fairly boring. But, BUT! Occasionally someone will post a seemingly mundane question to the list, then one thing leads to another, and all hell breaks loose. Suddenly, history professors across the country scramble to remember how to post a message to the list! Chaos runs rampant! But, honestly, it's not like these guys are debating how best to cure cancer. Today's flurry of activity began innocently enough, about an old history monograph. It quickly devolved into whether or not the Constitution helped or hurt fugitive slaves. Regardless of the topic, whenever this happens, I can't help but picture a bunch of old guys in tweed suits throwing elbows. All decorum goes out the window when the name-calling and wedgie-giving ensues.

This morning, as John and I headed for the front door of Badly Decorated Bed and Breakfast, the breakfast saga got even weirder when the owners' personal trainer remarked that we weren't sticking around for breakfast for the second day in a row. Whaaaa? I'm sorry, I don't believe we've met. My name is NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS. Seriously! When did it become a federal crime to refuse the breakfast portion of a bed and breakfast?

On the air mattress front, John didn't sleep well last night (understandably), which for John means that he talked in his sleep a lot. He woke me up at 4 in the morning wondering aloud what was on his face. He kept pointing at his nose and saying, "what's this??? What's this???" to which I replied "... ... ...it's your nose." Apparently that wasn't satisfactory, though, because then he began touching his upper lip furiously and saying, "there's a bug here! A bug! I CAN FEEL IT!!!" And, really, how can you argue with somnolent logic like that? I hate to admit that I actually looked (smacks forehead), then hissed at him gently encouraged him to go back to sleep.

And now for something completely unrelated: I like Rose and Radish just as much as the next person. But $34 for a single napkin? Isn't that a bit much? Are they individually handmade by Belgian unicorns or something?

No, I'm not actually going to write an entire blog post just to complain about the crappy air mattress in our room. Although allow me to say that for what it's costing us to stay here, we could purchase two brand new normal beds (box spring and mattress, for those of you keeping score) and go out for a nice meal afterwards. I'm just sayin'. Needless to say, last night's sleep was not so grate, akshully. Not wanting to partake of the breakfast social hour (where, seriously, everyone goes around the table and says their name, occupation, likes and dislikes, etc.), we left early and headed to breakfast at Open City. It was a crisp, peaceful morning in the Woodley Park area and a great way to start the day. Washington is such a funny town. It's big, yes, but it also has a great small-town feel. You can walk virtually everywhere, spending gobs of time outdoors enjoying the breeze and the sunshine. Plus, for being such an incredibly urban area, DC has a lot of great green spaces. It's really a lovely city. At the same time, almost paradoxically, it also has the feel of a very lonely city. Over half a million people live here, making it a very bustling area, but not one person in twenty will actually make eye contact with you. They're very busy, hustling from point A to point B, headphones or cell phones firmly attached to their ears, eyes straight forward. It's sort of like a city of pod people, which is not to disparage it at all. I do like DC a great deal, but I don't think I'm cut out for the lifestyle it seems to demand. And with that, I'm off to bed. The air mattress awaits.

We're in DC again this week; more research for me to do at the Library of Congress. And as we couldn't get into the bed and breakfast we usually stay in, I got us a room at another bed and breakfast. I knew when I booked this place that it would be... different. But nothing could have prepared me for just how different. The house itself is a nice brick row house with a great little garden out front and a pretty porch in the back. The inside of the house, however, is like something out of this world. The carpeting is blood red. The wall paint in our room is blood red. The walls throughout the house are covered (side to side, top to bottom) in enormous framed prints. The rooms are crammed full of oversized furniture. The bed we're supposed to sleep on is (wait for it) an AIR MATTRESS. We're paying $150 a night for the privilege of sleeping on an air mattress. I can hear the people down the hall coughing, quietly, which means that I can also probably hear them writing to-do lists and thinking really, really hard. But all of that pales in comparison to the owners. We'll call them Alice and Bob. When Alice showed us to our room, she took great pains to tell us that we shouldn't just stay in our room, that we should feel free to sit! In the many sitting rooms! And make ourselves comfortable! As guests should! And read the guidebooks! The many guidebooks! At some point during the grand tour (during which she, no shit, showed us how to unlock the front door-- if you guessed that it's just like unlocking the front door at your own damned house, you get a gold sticker), she talked to us at length about breakfast. Breakfast, apparently, is a communal affair and is prime socializing hour. It begins at 8:00 and everyone eats together. Dude. I'm not paying $150 a night to sleep on an air mattress AND be social in the mornings. If we didn't want breakfast, she explained, we merely had to note that on the whiteboard in the kitchen. Which we did, when we got back from dinner. Except that when we then turned to walk up to our room, she followed us and made certain that we knew just how disappointed she was, tut tut tut. I'm sorry, I didn't realize when I booked this place that it came fully equipped with a Jewish mother! *sigh* It's a nonrefundable reservation, so unless disaster strikes we'll have to tough it out, I'm sorry to say. If you don't hear from me in a couple days, send help.

So, I've not been sleeping well lately. SHOCKING, I know. I'll give you a minute to crawl back up into your chair, having recently fallen out of it because you were so surprised at my sleep update. All settled? Good. Now, I was reading about Eden's on-going battle with insomnia the other day, and she mentioned that taking a calcium supplement with magnesium before bed helped her sleep. To which a commenter added that eating a banana and drinking a glass of milk had helped her sleep. So that's my new plan: eat a banana (food miles be damned!) and choke down a glass of milk before bed. Hopefully that will keep the night terrors AND the light sleeping AND the drooling at bay. Stay tuned.