I mean the cherry blossoms. Here in D.C., they are kind of a big deal. I don't know if you've heard of them; people flock here just to see them.
This past week was the second week of National Cherry Blossom Festival here in the district. English translation: invasion of the tourists!
The three-week festival concludes next weekend with a big parade through the city chock full of family fun and colorful floats, displays and cheap hotdogs.
What's all the fuss about? In 1912, a Japanese mayor of Tokyo donated some 3,000 cherry trees to the city, as an olive branch (maybe cherry branch is better?), if you will. Fostering relationships between the nations, yada yada, nuclear bomb anyone?
They line the tidal basin near the Potomac (pronounced Poe-TOE-Mack) and the Jefferson Memorial. The Jefferson is my new favorite hunk of marble monument in the city, although it still ranks second to the Lincoln.
A little ways walk from the National Mall, Jefferson (OK, a massive statue of him, not actually Jefferson, come on) stands in the center of a large round dome facing across the tidal basin to the city. It is as if he's been banished across the way to forever watch over the politicians occupying 1600 Pennsylvania Ave, trying in vain to keep them honest.
Where was I? Oh yeah, popping the cherry blossoms. People come out here in full force from all over the nation and the world to see these "magnificent" blossoms explode and shine their light pink radiance. And the city welcomes them with fireworks and concerts on the waterfront.
They bring their strollers and their little children along with them. They leave their fashion sense and their sense of time at home, as they wander the mall complete with fanny packs, handheld camcorders and cheesy Goldfish (baked, not fried). Heaven forbid they miss the chance to film non-moving granite and marble monuments!
I get the most enjoyment out of seeing them trying to use the Metro. Of course they can be quite annoying when I'm wearing my headphones (in complete iPod iSolation) trying to get to work on time, but otherwise it is pretty darn amusing to see them stuffing cash into the ticket machines, struggling to figure out which train to take (heaven help them if the get on the Green Line), and standing like clueless baboons on the left side of the escalator.
On Tuesday, a bunch of us decided to take advantage of the new season and the general sense of D.C. festival-ness and go to a Nationals Game. I don't know if any of you have ever heard of the Nationals ... What? None? Hmmm well, basically Montreal got sick of baseball (wasn't European enough for them) and the Expos became the Nationals, playing ball right here in D.C.
Not that the Expos were any good, and I'm the last person on earth to know anything about virtually any sport. In fact, I'm usually quite clueless as to where the ball goes and who is supposed to be the catcher or the pitcher. So complicated.
But for $5 and nosebleed seats, I couldn't resist the chance to see history in the making. And boy was it historic ... historically bad that is. The Robert F. Kennedy Memorial Stadium was shamefully empty for a relatively warm Tuesday afternoon game. No one was wearing a Nats hat or a Nats jersey; everyone instead sported the hats or jerseys from their favorite "real" baseball teams.
And it isn't as if the team didn't try. They tried hard, and it was only because the Marlins were equally bad did the Nats walk a guy past home plate (WOW, look at me, talking sports!).
At one point during (maybe) the fourth inning, the game stopped for a commercial break (Who was watching at home? There was no one in the stands), and a bunch of bigheaded guys dressed as old American Presidents came out to the field. They then proceeded to race each other. No lie.
First Lincoln was ahead, with Jefferson and Teddy Roosevelt following close behind. Washington was in a distant fourth the whole way. I don't blame the guy, he's the oldest. Teddy pulled ahead and, beating out Lincoln, won the race. It was more amusing and exciting than the whole baseball game.
Ah, the beauty of spring. Presidents running down baseball fields, tourists wandering aimlessly (and cluelessly) down Constitution, Independence and Pennsylvania Avenues, cherry trees popping their blossoms all over the city. Even despite the abnormally cold weather this past week (thanks Gore, how inconvenient), the festival and the season is marching ahead according to plan.
The trees were absolutely beautiful, bursting open and showering the view of Jefferson and the Washington Monument with a nice hue of pink. Well past their peak now, since it snowed shortly after they burst, the trees helped usher in a new and exciting spring season. It is a chance for the politics as usual on this hill to be born again, refresh and start forging new relationships.
Maybe the cherry blossoms signify hope for the future, the chance to fix the wrongs of last year and make progress in Congress this year. Like the sparkly eyes of all the six-year-old children pointing and observing the city with their parents, the cherry trees are full of hope and promise.
Or maybe they just blossom at this time of year for a completely different reason.
They are smiling, knowing this is the season when Washington gets a nice big kiss-in-the-mail from millions of Americans. Maybe the trees bloom to remind us, "Hey! Chin up kiddo, it's not so bad ... tax season only comes once a year."
Jamie Bologna is a junior majoring in political science. You can e-mail him at James.Bologna@tufts.edu.
