From the Redwood Forests to the New York Island

Washington, DC is a fascinating place. It occupies a special niche in terms of tourism. There aren't A LOT of other American cities that can be thought of as tourist destinations simply for being a city. Just ask Baltimore. New York can. Boston. Chicago. Maybe San Francisco if you're gay. Some will read that list and think, "Really? Because I wouldn't spend my tourism dollars there. I'd rather lay on a beach/go skiing/go on a cruise/explore ancient ruins, rather than ride the subway and stare at buildings." My point exactly. Those cities don't hold any interest for large swaths of the population. But DC? DC is the embodiment of our great American tale, a monument to the greatness of our heritage. It is our secular Mecca. At some time in their lives, most Americans will make at least one trip to DC.

But living here the last few years in the shadow of so much history, both past and present, for me it's just life. I forget how exciting it is for some people to visit DC when I'm shopping for groceries or jogging past Arlington Cemetery or sitting in traffic on Route 1 on the way home from work. I drive through the National Mall where all the monuments and museums are housed regularly. But I'm on my way to some other destination, not gawking at monuments. So it's kinda nice when I have guests visit from out of town and get to be a tour guide for all the sites. This April, my mother and sister came for a visit, and I got to be a tourist for one fine weekend at the tail end of cherry blossom season.

DC tourist attractions are different for me than you might think. I already have pictures of all the monuments and have visited most of the museums, so I'm on the lookout for moving exhibits of awesome wonder: tourists. I'm fascinated by other tourists visiting from all over the country, all over the world for that matter. Because DC is such a universal attraction, I get a pretty good cultural sampling from around the U.S., and often I'm mesmerized by what I see. The thought that we come from the same country sometimes confounds me. I marvel at how different we are in our sameness. Take this young pilgrim, for example (I highly recommend clicking to enlarge all of these pictures to get a more detailed look):

Now, my mom wanted in on this pose because she, too, is a huge Guns N' Roses fan, same as Sasquatch there. But the contrast in how they express their devotion couldn't be painted with brighter imagery. He's more "Welcome to the Jungle," while mom is more "Sweet Child of Mine." Yet they share a national heritage. Same as this next darling:

I understand being a tourist. You are away from your hotel all day and it's important to find an option for carrying all the things you may need during the day, like your camera and smokes. And it is imperative that you are comfortable. However, my answer would probably be a backpack. Or a messenger bag. Or a purse, if I'm a woman. Or put them in my pockets. Many options here. I'm always amazed at how common fanny packs are on tourists. No matter how good you think you look sucking down a Camel, no amount of sex appeal gained can overcome wearing a fanny pack. Speaking of outfits that should have been spouse-checked before leaving the house, Tiff just had to get a picture with this Man's Man at the Gettysburg battlefield:

True, this was taken in Pennsylvania, but it fits the theme of cultural tourism. This guy was a mountain of a man with a shock of red hair on his head AND on his shoulders, a red-headed Shrek in the flesh. He's wearing a CSI shirt, but if he has any detective skills at all, his Crime Scene Investigation will lead him straight to a mirror. And finally, get a load of these yokels tromping around the White House lawn:

The doofus on the left is probably thinking to himself, "How do they load that house on a truck when they gots'ta move? Probably got a real nice crapper, though." This was taken right before I discovered the Secret Service's distinct lack of sense of humor. I mean, come on, streaking the portico outside the Oval Office is empirically funny. No question. Maybe if I'd worn my breakaway pants, I could have escaped. Next time.

Anyway, mom and Tiff, I luvz you ladies. Thanks for coming to see me.