…by Friday evening, I’d come to the conclusion that the best remedy for lingering sinus malaise was to just get past it and do something else…

In an effort to satiate our bibliophilic tendencies, and because we had some errands in that part of the world anyway, the five of us packed into the family sedan on Saturday morning and made for Washington DC, where the LOC was hosting the 2009 National Book Festival on the Mall.

As you might recall, we hit the fest last year to stand in line for hours to get a minute or two with one of our family’s favorite authors. This year, with the author slate being somewhat less exciting to us, we hoped to take in a little more of the whole picture. This we managed to do, visiting the various tent exhibits collecting free swag, watching a Henson intern* operating Elmo to a recording of Kevin Clash’s voice, and only spending a little time in a slightly rainy line getting a couple of autographs from Spiderwick authors Holly Black and Tony DiTerlizzi for Mary (who read both books we picked up before leaving the District that afternoon while standing in line), and a copy of Winter’s Tail: How One Little Dolphin Learned to Swim Again autographed by co-author Craig Hatkoff for Andrew.

Getting the kids out to meet and interact with writers and artists is always cool (and I believe, at least a little bit beneficial and educational; I’ve no problem with my kids making role models of successful, unpretentious authors), and I think they really do enjoy it (next up: Chris Claremont – important X-Men writer who created Lockheed the dragon – at the next VA Comicon in November), and the bookfest is free, which always works for me.

As the rain picked up, we hopped the Metro back to the car, and stopped to take care of a couple of errands in the NoVA area; primarily, exchanging a busted buffet/hutch door and picking up a trunkload of kitchen chairs at IKEA, and braving some overstimulating mall unpleasantness to pick up a few pairs of Converse sneakers for a bit less than MSRP.

Sunday, by contrast, involved less travel, but did involve finishing the hallway painting project (which had gone on way too long, being much interrupted by various other commitments), and assembling a bunch of chairs (which, while not the style we were originally looking for, fit quite nicely in our newly freshened kitchen). Necessary tasks, but not particularly noteworthy.

Rounding out the weekend was an evening viewing of Richard Linklater’s Before Sunset (which made a nice bookend to the really enjoyable, if less realistic romantic comedy of Nick and Norah’s Infinite Playlist from Friday night), the long-awaited, but not quite expected sequel to 1995’s Before Sunrise, a fun bit of 90s indie hipster romance (featuring “next big things” Ethan Hawke and Julie Delpy, neither of whom became the huge stars the press assumed they’d be, but do consistently good work) that hit me just right when I saw it back then. What makes this one interesting is how it picks up the story of Jesse and Celine a decade after their whirlwind night in Vienna, and pretty much plays out in real-time as they meet and talk for the first time since then. An hour and a half of just two people walking and talking with no score to speak of, but it’s a beautiful examination of what happens after the credits roll on the typical fluffy film romance and real life rears its unavoidable head.

And with that, I end almost 700 words on my weekend; perhaps the most unimaginative kind of blogging there is, but occasionally, the kind one can’t help but do.

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* – I assume Henson intern here, because the puppetry was quite well done (as I’d expect from anyone involved with Henson), but given the nature of this completely innocuous 20 minute presentation for a valuable, but not particularly important event, performed identically twice under the PBS tent, Clash clearly wasn’t present. and if he was, would certainly have mic-ed up and done his own voice acting. I of course expound this much on Muppet performers because as much as I find Elmo tedious, I generally LOVE all things Henson, and recognize that even if the character is insipid, the skill in portraying a little squeaky, shouty red monster is not inconsiderable, and admire the guy’s talent.