About six weeks ago an older fellow moved into the apartment across the street from my backyard (I'm on a corner lot). Every day, from sunup until well past sundown, he sits in his lawnchair and stares across the street into my backyard. Until this started, I never realized how much I enjoyed my backyard, which used to feel very private. Now, I cringe every time I go out my back door. My carport is in my backyard, so he watches me every time I come and go. I've started leaving out my front door when I go running, because I really don't like him staring at me in my running clothes. I can't believe he doesn't get bored sitting outside with nothing to do but stare for twelve hours a day. He's not doing anything illegal, so I guess I just have to put up with it. But if I go missing, tell the police: creepy neighbor guy did it.
DC would have been a lot of fun if I hadn't been sick the whole time. I had laryngitis the last three days, which makes trying to interact with the public all sorts of fun. I did get to meet Malcolm Gladwell, which was cool, and I acted as bouncer at the insanity that was his 45-minute booksigning. It's amazing just how many people are utterly oblivious to the 500 people in line behind them, and think they'll just stop and chat with the author for a few minutes. Well, not on my watch! (I still had my voice at that point, and used my cool but threatening tone.)
Of course I had to have my picture taken with the cardboard cutouts of the Obamas.
They were very busy cutouts; I swear all 16,000 conference attendees had their pictures taken with them. I did have one actual, real-life celebrity sighting: Debbie Phelps, Michael Phelps's mother. She is, like, three feet shorter than her son.
I've been on Willow twice since I returned. Today's ride went very well. We worked on canter lengthening and counter-canter serpentine. I think at this point we could really rock first level.