Crime and Punishment in Washington D.C.

It is a hot and muggy day out there. It's been humid for a while. I'm not fond of that. It means that your clothes stick to you, your hair clings to the back of your neck and even when there's a breeze, the air is still cloying. It's supposed to thunderstorm today. I'm hoping it does so that the air is clear.

It was really hot and sticky in Washington D.C. for part of the weekend. The slightest movement makes you feel nasty and nothing you can do will stop it without seeking air conditioning. It's not a bad thing; my friend and I alleviated the heat by stopping to dip our hot feet into a fountain.

As is the nature of mini breaks and long weekends, once you're back and life has resumed its normal pace, it's easy to feel as though it was a long time ago even though it wasn't. I only flew in yesterday but one work day and one evening back in my place has me feeling like it was days ago instead of so recently. I hate that feeling.

The trip was wonderful though. As I said in an earlier post, I've been to D.C. before so I didn't feel the need to explore the monuments and buildings. Instead, we did things that wouldn't be on a new tourist's first stop.

For example, my friend introduced me to a new museum. Now, for those that know me, they're aware that I have a, uh, bit of a 'dark' streak. I tend to be fascinated with the darker elements of life as well as the light. Then again, you may have already picked up on that from this blog. Through the course of my life, I have been fascinated with the psychological profiles of serial killers, loved the romance and violence of the classic Mafia world, enjoyed learning about pirates. Even recently, I think I mentioned a fascination with the brutality of historical torture methods.

I promise, I'm not mentally disturbed. Well, ok, so I do have a few...interesting...ways of looking at things but I'm not really some closet unabomber waiting to launch my attack on the post office or something. I like the post office very much. I wouldn't know how to build a bomb. Considering that I get upset if I hit a squirrel on the road, I doubt very much I'd be a very good bad person.

Yet, I'm intrigued by them. I can't help it. Which is why I was so excited to discover this museum in Washington D.C. It's called The National Museum of Crime and Punishment and it is fantastic. It's full of information about serial killers, mobsters, hackers, and the law enforcement personnel that caught them. It even has a section on pirates. It's one of those brilliant museums where you actually get to 'play'. For example, you can attempt to crack a safe (first time, thank you very much). You can hack into a computer, you can get your mugshot taken, be fingerprinted and test your powers of observation in the CSI lab. They film America's Most Wanted in the basement of the building which lends the museum an overall feeling of authenticity and reality.

In short, it's the perfect museum for me. We went on a day where there were very few visitors. This was both good and bad. It was good for us because we could do all the hands-on stuff without having to wait in line but it's bad because it means that people aren't going which always is a risk for a museum.

I've been to the National Spy Museum in D.C. too. This is also a great museum with lots of hands on stuff. There are some interesting exhibits but also some very, very boring ones. It's always crowded. I enjoyed that museum but the Museum of Crime and Punishment is way better. It's set up to be informational without being creepy. Yes, there are some darker items on display, memorabilia from serial killers and old-fashioned torture instruments, for example. Yet there are also displays on the FBI, a CSI lab where you can see how TV shows compare to the reality of CSI and a police 'training' area. I got to drive a patrol car simulator. I crashed.

I really hope that museum gets some patronage. It's such a little gem and it deserves some recognition. If you're going to D.C., I highly recommend that. I also recommend eating at Matchbox, an American-bistro type restaurant with the best mini-burgers and pizza I've had in years. It's just down the street from the museum too which makes it doubly convenient.

So, even though I'm back into my normal routine and it seems a lot longer ago that I was at the museum when, in actuality, it's only been two days, I can remember what I saw. It's good fodder for a writer as well as satisfying that slightly dark streak I have trapped inside. It was a wonderful weekend full of good things.

And, as an added bonus, it makes my week really short. Tomorrow is Friday. Bring on another weekend!

Happy Thursday.

In the Kitchen with Captain Monkeypants (and Other Random Musings)

I am not awake this morning. Not only is it really early but it looks a bit like Siberia outside. Without the snow. It looks more like that frozen tundra-y thing you think of when you think Eastern Europe. Well, maybe that's just me, actually. I'm sure it's not cold there all the time but every movie about Russia or Siberia shows it as being cold.

I'm glad this week is drawing to a close. It's been a long, tiring week. There's really no cause for complaint unless you count the two rejections I got yesterday AFTER posting about how much rejection sucks. Yes, I'm sure it'll be humourous one day but for now, it's a bit like salt in the wound, to use a cliche.

I did, however, get an email from Amazon.com telling me they were doing their Breakthrough Novel Award (ABNA) Contest again next year. Entries were due in February. I did this contest last year and found it to be a somewhat disheartening and unpleasant experience.The good thing was I got an article published about it in a writing e-zine about my experience. It was one of the few submissions I've made that I was paid for which, as you can imagine, felt fantastic. If you're interested, you can read it here. ABNA was a bit of an chore and it wasn't terribly well organized. I'm really hoping this year will be better. Since it's free to enter, I'll probably put something in but I'll see how my self-esteem goes. On the plus side, they did send us a published copy of our submission. It was my first real book. It looks good. Someone even read it. It was quite exciting. So maybe I will submit again. I figure if I submit every year, eventually all of my books will get published, even if it is self-publishing of a sort.

The rest of the week has been fairly blah. I've been making soup lately. I've decided that since my baking skills always end in some form of hardened rock-like substance, it's probably best that I focus on the non-baking side of cooking. Unless it's in a bread-maker because, let me tell you, that is some fine bread and it takes away the smell of Christmas pudding.

But my soups are actually turning out quite well, surprising. I have an excellent cookbook. I've found if I stick to that, the soup is good. However, internet recipes are hit and miss. Mostly, I like to turn vegetables into soup. You can analyze that if you like but try not to compare me to Dexter Morgan just because I really enjoy chopping the vegetables into pieces and then cooking them to oblivion. I love vegetables. I can spend hours in a good produce section. I have spent hours in a produce section.

I bought a swede (aka a rutabaga) a while ago and didn't feel like mashing it up and eating in the traditional British fashion. I wanted to turn it into soup. So I found a receipe. The finished product looked really pretty. It smelled interesting. I wouldn't, however, advise eating it on a regular basis. A little cup of it would be an excellent appetizer. A bowl of it is a little vile. Ok, fine, it was more than a little vile. It was a little like eating a bowl of baby food. Not recommended. On the other hand, my Green Onion and Forest Mushroom soup was a winner. Now that was good soup. I've had some successes with the soups but also some flops. I cannot make a good pea soup. It usually ends up being so thick, a spoon can stand up in it, unattended.

Anyway, I also made a recipe called Best Cream of Broccoli soup. It was not the best. It was merely ok. It lacked flavour. Next time, I'm adding white wine, provided I don't have to use it to clean a red wine stain off my carpet. I'm actually learning tricks to cooking soup, such as ways to enhance flavour and yet still preserve the natural taste of the veggies. Are you scared yet? I am. I'm not known for my culinary skills though I now own this wicked meat cleaver that a friend so thoughtfully sent to me. I like to hold my meat cleaver and think about chopping things. I have a fondness for things like that. I once found a hatchet in an antique store that felt like it should belong to me in one of those fantastic deja-vu moments. I didn't buy it but sort of wished I had but then, what would I do with a hatchet, honestly?

Ok, so now I've officially terrified you. I think I might like that, actually. I've realized I'm a little bi-polar in my blog One minute, I'm waxing poetical about Christmas lights and, of course, snow, and the next, I'm talking about how much I like really sharp objects. If you think about the fact that I'm Mistress of the Calamity, you might realize sharp objects are not a good idea. Probably not but I still like them. Just as I still love soup even though an unfortunate incident with a little microwavable container Campbells Soup at Hand Broccoli Soup scarred me, literally, for life. I now call it Soup on Hand.

Anyway, on that note, I think I better wind this up since I really don't have much of a point today other than it's the fact that it's Friday and Friday's seem to be about randomly babbling.

Have a great weekend.

Deer, Dexter, and the Darkness within...

So it was another frosty morning today, seriously frosty. However, because it's Wednesday and not Monday, I had enough mental faculties to actually leave the lovely warmth of my flat and go downstairs to start my car. I also managed to put the kettle on so I could make a cup of tea. I don't know why I dind't think about doing that before. I love tea. I even have a tea drawer. It's a drawer. Filled with tea. I have a lot of flavours. My favourite though is still good old PG Tips with milk and sugar. What can I say? I'm British, genetically wired to drink tea and loathe the French.

So I'm drinking the tea. I can't say I truly loathe the French though. As a group, I have a healthy bias towards them, especially when I read the history between Britain and France. Now, granted, Britain wasn't exactly, um, nice to France either. I mean, face it, we were a pretty ruthless lot. And yes, we did try to take their country over more than a couple of times. We even succeeded once or twice (Go, Henry VIII!). I like Henry the VIII...well, except when he started going mad and chopping off his wife's heads. He fascinates me. Awful man and yet...intriguing. . He was always trying to take over France. And I'm sure he liked tea too. See, I can't help it? My roots are deep.

Anyway, I digress. If you haven't noticed, I'm really good at digressing. It's a speciality of mine. So, while I was making my tea, I took a look outside my patio doors. It was finally light enough to see outside. I have a lovely view of some woods. This morning, there were three deer, loping through the field that overlaps the apartment property line. They were the first deer I've seen since I've moved. They were big deer. I took a moment to admire them and be excited that I was seeing deer in the field and then my brain said, "I hope no one shoots them."

Now, this disturbed me. I mean, here I was, looking at nature's creations in their natural habitat. They were just out for a morning stroll, I'm sure. I was fortunate enough to see them. The ground was silver with its frozen top layer, there were fingers of glittery ice frosted on my window and now there were deer. It was a beautiful thing. And yet, my brain didn't stop to think about all that. It just wanted to make sure that there wasn't going to be a Bambi's mother-type-tragedy.

I suppose it's not that abnormal. I mean, I do watch "Dexter." It's a show about a sociopathic serial-killer. Dexter only kills bad people though; his targets are criminals who would strike again and again because they slip through the legal system and are relased back onto the streets. Dexter stops them, stalking his prey until it's time to strike. When he strikes, it's precise and clean, almost always planned and plotted. He usually slices their throats. It's quick and slightly messy, a contradiction to the way he captured his victims. And, week after week, I root for Dexter to kill someone. When he doesn't, it's disappointing and I feel cheated. Michael C. Hall does such an awesome job of playing Dexter; there are nuances to his character that are perfect. He's likeable and brilliant. Yet he's a murderer, a serial killer.

I think the reason I love Dexter is because almost all of us have a bit of a dark streak in us. We let it lay dormant though it might express itself in fights with loved ones, bad days at work, playing those shoot-em-up video games a bit too enthusiastically. I let it come out when I write; I let all the darkness inside of me flow into a scene or a character and the darkness is no longer inside me, I've fed the beast, so to speak. Other people have other ways of feeding their beasts. You can read the innuendo into that, if you like. It's all tied together. Just ask Freud. But, regardless, everyone has their ways. Dexter acts on his darkness, which, coincidentally, he calls his "Dark Passenger."

I tried reading the "Dexter" books but the character felt flat, over-the-top. I pictured him looking like the Dexter on TV and the characters didn't quite mesh. The Dexter on my TV has a grace to him, a balletic way of letting the Dark Passenger take over. The Dexter in the book lacked that, I think. As a writer, I shouldn't be endorsing that you watch TV instead of reading but, in this case, I don't think there's any harm. After all, the books were the reason the TV show came into being so yay, Jeff Lindsay, author of the Dexter series.

The reason I like Dexter is that he allows us to live vicariously through him. He's a sociopath so killing doesn't bother him. It would bother us. Even in our darkest periods, few of us really want to see the blood on our hands and reap the consequences of what we sew. For Dexter, always eluding discovery or detection of his bad habit of murding people, it's just something he has to do to quiet that the dark tide that washes over him and blinds him to everything but his need to satisfy the urge to kill. I don't want to kill and I don't have urges so dark I'd even imagine it. But Dexter is a fantasy show, one that lets me escape into a world that sneakily and bemusedly presents him as a hero, doing away with the scum of the earth so that it's safer for the good guys...us.

So, back to the deer in the field...I think the reason my brain was worried about them getting shot is because it's likely they could be. Hunters are everywhere, Dexter-like in their stalking of their prey, fulfilling a need within to capture and conquer their victims. Those deer aren't guilty though, like Dexter's victims. At least, I don't think so though their could be a whole secret subsociety of deer living in the woods in which Killer Deer could be lurking. Oh, deer. (ok, that was bad...I couldn't resist).

I don't want those deer to get shot or killed. I like to see them ambling across the field. I like to watch them, unobserved, as the simplicity of their life infects mine, just for a moment or two.

So maybe my brain was right to hope they didn't get shot. It definitely gave me something to digress about. I never did like Bambi...it made me sad. Funny how my morals feel guilty about a dead deer but allow me to enjoy the craft of a fictional serial killer.

Then again, I do come from a place that produced Henry VIII, a man who solved marital difficulties by decapitation. Rule Brittania!