The cookie that made me happy today

Work has been very dull this week and the time goes by very slowly with only a couple of people in the office. After work today I had a doctor's appointment, all in all it has been a very dull week. I left the doctor's office this evening and headed to take the Metro home when I walked by an Au Bon Pain. I am not proud to admit this, but I saw a photograph of a cookie on their sign out front and immediately diverted my course into the restaurant in search of the cookie on the sign that I was determined to make mine. It was an instantaneous reaction and sudden realization that I could not live one minute longer without having one of these cookies. The advertisement was for two new filled cookies - one was two sugar cookies with chocolate hazelnut filling between them, the other was called Florentine with Caramel Creme. It was the sugar cookies with hazelnut that derailed my original plan to go home, so I sought one out and put it in a bag to take to the cashier. While carrying out my mission, I couldn't help but notice the Florentine with Caramel and that was looking even better but I have no idea what kind of cookie that is. It looked a bit like gingerbread so I was not willing to take my chances. I have to be in a certain kind of mood to enjoy gingerbread and I haven't been in that mood for several years.

I took my impulsive cookie purchase up to the friendly cashier and asked her about the florentine cookie. She was not a native english speaker, so we had a bit of a communication problem at first. I asked:

What is the florentine cookie like?

She responded: Yes, we have them. They are over there.

Yes, I saw them over there, but what do they taste like? [she looked very confused by this point, so I go with another choice of words] What flavor?

She says, "Oh, you can try one."
Me: "Oh - no, no. I don't know if I would like them, I'm just curious what they are like."
She says, "Try it."

Suddenly I am the one looking confused because I'm not sure how I am supposed to try the cookie when I don't see any samples or understand how I am supposed to do that. I respond as I usually do in awkward social situations, with an attempt at humor, "Just go up, take a bite and put it back down? Haha."

Completely serious, she says, "Yes."

And I don't know what to do. Certainly it can't be Au Bon's policy to allow people to sample the food and if it is, I suddenly have second thoughts about purchasing their baked goods from now on. But she sees I am confused, "No, don't put it back. But try one. If you don't like it, you can throw it away and I won't charge you for it." (but remember, she had an accent so it sounded much cooler, like "...throw eet avay...")

For some reason, this was a very difficult task for me. First of all, I wasn't ruling out the possibility that there was a language barrier miscommunication happening here, although it sounded pretty clear that I had her permission to take a cookie off the shelf and take a bite. Still, I couldn't walk over there. I had to take a step, turn around... "I'm going to do it." She smiles, "Okay." A couple more steps, "Seriously, I'm going to take a bite." She is now laughing at me, "Do it!" So I grab the Florentine with Caramel Creme and I take a bite and it was not like gingerbread at all. It was like sweet heaven. "Ooh, that is good! Thank you for that, I will take this one, too." And now I am buying two cookies because even though I was completely over the hazelnut, I already had one in my bag. She rung me up and said, "It is my New Year's present to you." and I'm pretty sure she didn't charge me for the second cookie.

I love this woman.

I know this is a silly story and over the course of a lifetime, we all touch the lives of others temporarily and everyone has a few anecdotes like this one where an everyday transaction is turned into a truly pleasurable experience. This was the best thing to happen to me all week. After waiting 15 minutes in the cold for a bus that was late, then another 15 minutes in a doctor's office waiting room, I was accustomed to being ignored. The cookie was such a small gesture, but this interaction with the Au Bon Pain employee brightened my day. Of course, a free cookie will often do that, but it was more than that - the whole interaction was a bit silly, between me thinking it was a miscommunication, to my natural inability to violate everyday decorum and take a bite off of something without clear intention to pay for it. It was fun. I had fun with her. Not to mention, that was a magically delicious cookie.

I thought about not mentioning the specific name of the restaurant because it did occur to me that she could possibly get in trouble for giving away a free cookie. But in the unlikely event that the Au Bon Pain corporate people happen to read this blog, I think they will understand the value of giving away one cookie when it results in someone telling anyone who will listen what a fantastic day she is suddenly having thanks to one kind person at an Au Bon Pain location. Even if it is a grown woman who doesn't know what florentine cookies taste like, yet allows photographs of baked goods dictate her every move. Yep, that's me in a nutshell. Mmm... nuts sound delicious right now. Gotta go, thanks for reading!

Straight up

I never realized how often I drop things until it became too painful to pick them up. The once-automatic act of picking up after myself became a daunting task. Think of how many times you drop something - a set of keys, a piece of paper comes off the desk, a napkin off of the kitchen table. No big deal, right? You just swoop down and pick it up. Not me. As soon as that item hits the floor I go through a battery of considerations, do an impromptu risk assessment and then formulate a plan for how to recover the dropped item. You just don't consider how handy bending is until you lose the ability to do so.


I didn't know it at first, but what I was dealing with was two herniated discs and mild spinal stenosis. For weeks I just thought it was back pain and if I rested for a bit it would get better. In the meantime, living with it was horrible. On the first day I walked into my apartment and accidentally dropped my keys on the floor. I took a deep breath and just stared at them. I stared at the floor the way you would stare down the Grand Canyon if you had just dropped your cell phone and were working up the courage to rappel down and retrieve it. It's so far down. I'm going to hurt myself. I may not make it back up. What am I going to do? Can I live without my keys? Can I just leave them on my floor forever and have someone make a new set for me? Perhaps I should just make dozens of sets of keys and when I drop one I can leave it behind as collateral damage - leaving the world littered with sets of keys. That seems like a reasonable solution. Anything sounds better than bending over.

Of course, I did not make a dozen sets of keys - I would need the original key to cut the duplicates. I had to slowly bend my knees with my back remaining upright and feel around on the floor to pick them up and hang them on the nail. It was a laborious task. It didn't stop with keys, either. I started to wonder if I've always been a klutz and never realized it. Every day I would drop something. The worst was when someone else dropped something by my feet. The polite thing to do would be to pick it up and retrieve it for them. Sorry pal, you are on your own. If someone dropped something on the Metro and it slid below my seat, I would just kick it back to the person. I would try to explain that my back is screwed up and I can't bend over. But the damage was done. It's really not polite to kick something at a person after they drop it. Especially when you're as uncoordinated as I am, and the item would likely get kicked past them, or somewhere within a 3-foot radius of their location. Precision is not one of my talents. It sucks when it's painful to be polite. It was not completely debilitating. I could still go to work, I just had to get up from my desk and walk every couple of hours so I didn't get sore.


One day, after a long day at work, I came home to find that a delivery person had slid a menu underneath the doorway of every apartment in my hallway. What the hell kind of masochist would do something like that? That's just great. What am I going to do now? How am I going to get this off the floor? I am going to have a pizza menu on my floor for all of eternity. What was that delivery person thinking? It was as if someone had vandalized my apartment and I had to figure out how to fix it. Cruel, cruel delivery driver.

The pizza menu stayed on my floor for a couple of days. I finally went through the process of getting x-rays and an MRI on my spine to determine what was causing the pain and that's when I learned of the spinal stenosis. The orthopaedic surgeon showed me the MRI results and pointed to a white line leading from my spine to my right leg. "Do you see the white lines? Those are nerves. Now look on your left side. Do you see how that nerve just stops?" It was creepy to see what's going on inside my body, but it answered a lot of questions. The herniated disc was bulging right into the nerves and cutting them off. Along with the back pain being on my left side, I also had been feeling like my foot was asleep. I often untied my shoelaces and loosened them because my foot hurt, and I thought I had just pulled the laces too tight and cut off my circulation. It turns out that it was not a circulation problem, but my nerves were affected by the back problems. At times it feels like I am walking on something underneath my toes. I must have taken my shoes off and straightened my sock a dozen times because I thought it was my sock bunching up below my toes. But my socks were never bunched. I was feeling something that was not there. I guess that is how the jumbled nerves manifested themselves. It felt very uncomfortable, but not painful like the back pain. The back pain was the worst.


One thing that was very hard for me when dealing with back pain, was that it was all internal. I didn't have a cast on my leg or a brace around my neck that clued people in on my delicate state. If someone didn't know me, they would think I'm an able-bodied young woman in my twenties. Looks can be deceiving. What looks like a 25-year old body on the outside, feels to me like it's 75-years old. I take public transportation everywhere and I struggle with finding a seat during rush hours. I have started waiting until later and taking the train when it is not as packed. When I get to work, I now take the elevator to the second floor instead of the stairs. It makes me very self conscious because I'm sure it just appears to other people as if I'm lazy. Some friends have recommended carrying a cane or wearing a neck brace, just to make it easier to find a seat on the Metro and on the bus. I can't bring myself to ask someone to give up their seat. How do I know they are not suffering from some internal injury as well? Who am I to pick and choose who should give up their seat for my ailing back? I never do. I just suck it up and go on and it seems to get a little better every day. If I have learned one thing from this experience, it is that you can't always tell when someone who comes across as rude or lazy is actually just dealing with pain in the best way that they can. If I have learned two things, it is that bending is awesome and is not to be taken for granted.

Undergarments overanalyzed

I don't get it. The question is not so much why would a pair of underwear say that, but more importantly: Who are they talking to? If you are unable to see the photo above, it is of a pair of Victoria's Secret boy short panties and the backside says, "Your boyfriend says Hi."

I'm not sold on the idea of grown women wearing underwear that talk, but usually they say things that make relative sense. For example:

"Total Fox", "Above Average", "This is perfection." These are self-referential and they describe the object inside of the underwear. It is the garment equivalent of the "My son is an honor roll student" bumper sticker. When you see that, you know that proud parents are inside the car. Same principle. But "your boyfriend says hi" is just confusing. Is he inside of there?

Under what circumstances will someone see you in your underwear whose boyfriend will also see you in said panties? Are you sleeping with bisexual men who are in a relationship with each other? I suppose you could moon people while wearing your VS boy shorts, or simply hurl them at someone to let them know that you're moving in on their man. All of these things are extremely ill-advised.

In this age of web 2.0, why anyone would use panties to communicate a message to a third party is beyond me. That doesn't seem very practical. The only thing you need on the back of your underwear is the days of the week. Sunday through Saturday, baby. Just make sure they are clean.

Metro advertising - overanalyzed

When I see the words, "...your life depends on it" next to a photo of a vigilante serial killer, I take that threat seriously. As in, if I do not get my ass to the Reston Town Center for the Light the Night Walk, I will be chopped up into tiny pieces and disposed of discreetly. This is the visceral reaction I have when I see this billboard.

To be fair, it does say "Michael C. Hall" under his photo, and not "Dexter Morgan." The actor is a Cancer survivor after undergoing treatment for Hodgkins lymphoma, making him a perfectly appropriate and passionate spokesperson for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. This information brings a new level of respect to the message, "Walk because someone's life does," when coming from the actor.

The problem is, if you conduct a man-on-the-street interview and ask people to identify the person in the picture, I'm guessing the majority will recognize him as either a serial killer or a mild-mannered funeral director. If you think that the general public is able to disassociate actors from their characters, talk to Entourage's Rex Lee. If he lives to be 100 years old, he will forever be greeted with shouts of "Lloyyyyyyyd!"

The advertisement is really quite brilliant. Between Michael C. Hall's personal life and his on-screen persona, the message can be deconstructed as:

WALK as if your life depends on it. Because if you don't, Dexter will find you and kill you.
WALK because someone's life does. No really though, Michael C. Hall is a Cancer survivor and this is a very serious disease. It's the right thing to do.

Ten years later

Tonight I was fortunate to attend an event at the Newseum in honor of the ten year anniversary of 9/11. Charles Gibson was the moderator of a panel of guests, including Ari Fleischer, who was George W. Bush's press secretary at the time; Victoria Clarke, who then served as the Pentagon spokesperson; and Jim Miklaszewski, chief Pentagon correspondent for NBC News and the first person on the scene to report that the Pentagon had been attacked.

The panelists each gave us their recollection of where they were when they first heard the news of the first plane hitting the World Trade Center, and how the events unfolded thereafter. Charles Gibson also told of his experience as anchor of Good Morning America that morning. Each of them were in the unique position of being called upon to explain to others what had happened, while they themselves were finding out with the rest of the country. And not always receiving accurate information. I think Ms. Clarke summed it up the best at the end of the evening by repeating a quote by Daniel Patrick Moynihan after the Kennedy Assassination. "We will laugh again, but we will never be young again." She thought to herself as she drove past tanks on on the Key Bridge on her way home that evening, "I will never be young again."

After ten years, I still have not come to terms with the events that transpired that day. It feels foolish for me to say that, I was living in Iowa and I did not know anyone who was directly affected by the attack at that time. I was so far removed from the events, but ten years later I am still taken aback by memories of that day. I do not live in fear, and it is hard to put into words. But Ms. Clarke's reference sums it up well. Something was taken from all of us that day. We are forever connected to the memories of that horrific day. Even those of us who did not suffer a direct loss of a loved one, we are not the same people we were on September 10, 2001.

A few weeks ago, a coworker walked into the office in the morning, visibly shaken. She had taken the commuter train into Washington, D.C., as she does every day. She was hesitant to admit what was bothering her, but she whispered very softly what had happened on the train that morning. She spoke quietly for fear of being overheard, and she told me the reason she was so shaken. She said she was on the train sitting next to a Muslim man with a full beard and he was holding prayer beads. She noticed this right away and sat down next to the quiet man and reprimanded herself for the immediate mental connection she made to Muslim terrorists on 9/11. Then, the man gripped his beads and began to pray quietly. She noticed the large duffel bag at his feet. She sat next to him and became more uncomfortable as he rocked in his seat, put his face in his hands, looked up to the sky, and prayed much more actively. At this point she felt very afraid. As she told the story, she was puzzled by emotions - is she a bigot? Is she intolerant? She knew it was the holy month of Ramadan at that time, but it was also days after an unexpected earthquake and days before a hurricane was expected to hit the area. The whole world already seemed to be going crazy and all she could think of was that she was on public transportation in the nation's capital and the man next to her was making his peace with Allah before bombing the train.

She got up and moved to a different train car and struggled with overpowering emotions. She felt bad to have judged someone who she understands was probably just praying during Ramadan. At the same time, if her fears were truly instinctive and he had something suspicious in his bag, she could have neglected to save lives because she erred on the side of political correctness. She asked again if I thought she was a bigot after having told me this. Yet she still had strong feelings from what she witnessed, it felt like a rational fear.

I know her fairly well, and I do not think she is a bigot. I told her so, and I don't think her reaction is her fault. She didn't react that way because of some internal hatred toward Muslims, she reacted that way because her immediate mental connection to Muslims was to stories about terrorist activity. We do not see a lot of representation of moderate Muslims in our culture. Muslim representations are now what Soviets were during the Cold War. I told her that if she would have alerted a conductor and had the entire train offloaded and delayed everyone's commute while the man's parcels were searched, simply because he was praying in public, then she could be headed down the road of intolerance. She didn't do anything about it, but she was afraid and struggled with the "what if" feeling of the possibility that her fears were not unfounded and the danger was real. She struggled with her emotions for the entire day, but I think that her concerns would have been a common reaction among many non-Muslim Americans in the post-9/11 world.

On Tuesday, Muslim author Irshad Manji was interviewed on MSNBC's Morning Joe. Thoughts of my coworker's experience filled my head as she spoke of "the most dangerous four letter f-word in the English language: Fear." She continues,

I see among broad-hearted Americans (non-Muslim), FEAR about asking questions of Muslims and Islam because they are afraid of being judged as bigots for doing so. And I see among liberal Muslims like myself, fear of going on the record about our views b/c we fear either of being called traitors by Islam supremacists, or “terrorists-in-waiting” by Islam bashers. So you can see that there are layers of fright all over the place and frankly, I think the next ten years need to be about reconciliation but not just between Muslims and non-Muslims, also between honesty and conversation. If we can’t have honest conversations in which you guys are allowed as non-Muslims to raise uncomfortable questions, then we’re never going to get to the root of what it takes to reconcile.

While I never expect to fully be able to contemplate the events of 9/11 or the effect they have had on the world, I owe a debt of gratitude to people like Irshad Manji, and the panelists who spoke tonight of their experiences. It is true that we will never be young again, but we still have plenty of room to grow as a country. In the days after 9/11, Americans were united in ways I have not seen before or since. Charles Gibson mentioned that his daughter was a few blocks from the World Trade Center and she witnessed countless acts of kindness and humanity as people helped one another through the fog of debris. Ten years later, it is incumbent upon us to help one another through the residual fog of fear.

A marriage between reality TV and politics

It's past my bedtime but before I go, I have to weigh in on tonight's Republican presidential debate on Fox News. I feel very strongly that these debates need to move to a reality-tv format where one candidate is voted off of the stage every 15 minutes. Given the size of the field, they'll have to be voted off in pairs to begin with, but the only thing that will make these forums tolerable in the future is a political Jeff Probst saying, "The tribe has spoken. It's time for you to go." Or even better, since Trump toyed with the idea of running but opted out, he could still be part of the process by sitting at a table across from the podiums shouting his trademark, "You're fired!" Just to fire the candidates from the debate, of course - not from the campaign trail altogether. I still believe in the electoral process for choosing a candidate. The next day they can go back to campaigning and sucking up to Iowans. There will be plenty of other debates to brush up on their survival skills and come back to the podium again.

In my opinion, the Mormons were the big winners tonight and the Minnesotans came off like bickering siblings. First, the Mormon victories: Mitt Romney and Jon Huntsman both came across very strong. Romney had all the right answers (and often vague ones) on the economy. Jon Huntsman (seen above in WSJ photo between Tim Pawlenty and Newt Gingrich) presented himself as a shrewd businessman and didn't back down on his record, even on his more unpopular opinions.

Then we have the bickering Minnesotans: Governor Tim Pawlenty and Congresswoman Michele Bachmann. These two dominated far too much time by criticizing each other's records, defending themselves by criticizing the other person in turn, and then going back and forth, much to the chagrin of Rick Santorum - who never missed a chance to point out how little screen time he was getting. I say to all three of you - you're not going to win the nomination. The tribe has spoken. Goodbye. You're fired. Whatever other reality catchphrase applies here that means "go away." Do that.

Newt Gingrich had a bit of screen time tonight. His standard answer to any given question sounded the same (this is not verbatim, but pretty close): When I was Speaker of the House, Ronald Reagan, Ronald Reagan, I'm very smart, Ronald Reagan, shut up about my disastrous campaign, and quit staring at my oddly-shapen head. (This last part was implied, but I found it to be very astute, as I was in fact staring at said head.)

In all seriousness, my true inspiration to write about the debate is Jon Huntsman reiterating his support for civil unions. I am neither Republican nor Democrat and I have equal contempt for both parties. But Huntsman's defense of civil unions inspires me. I have a hard time watching presidential debates because I tire of hearing constant pandering, but this was the opposite of pandering. Anyone who is running for the Republican nomination knows one of the essential catchphrases is, "Marriage is between a man and a woman." It is right up there with, "Life begins at conception." It is a standard survival technique in the early stages of any campaign, but Hunstman strayed from the script and stuck to his guns. He defended his position by saying, "I think this nation can do a better job when it comes to equality. I think this nation can do a better job when it comes to reciprocal beneficiary rights. I believe this is something that should be discussed among the various states... as for me, I support civil unions."

You are correct, Mr. Huntsman. This country can do a better job when it comes to equality. Not only that, but this country can do a much better job of staying focused on things like our financial crisis and our men and women in uniform who are repeatedly deployed to Iraq and Afghanistan and too many of them coming home broken. Those are the things we should be talking about, in presidential debates and in congress. I've heard enough about the hot-button issues.

The only thing that would inspire me more than hearing John Hunstman stick to his principles on civil unions, is if Republican voters will see past this and not use it as a sudden-elimination round because he has gone off script. I for one would like to hear more of what Mr. Hunstman has to say. Judging by the amount of post-debate analysis Fox News focused on candidate Huntsman (zero!) I would say he has an uphill battle ahead of him. It is a shame if his voice is stifled after this debate. As an independent voter in the general election, I would like to hear more of what Mr. Huntsman has to say. Of course, he'll have to make it past his own party's primaries first before he ever has a chance in a general election. After the voters held their noses last year and voted for John McCain, I have a feeling the Republican candidate is going to tow the party line pretty heavily this year. I hope I'm wrong because it would be a shame. I can't be the only person voting in the general election who is in favor of civilized debate and rational ideas. Then again, there really is no room for that sort of thing in politics, is there?

Seventy is the new thirty

First, a confession: I am a complete jerk. I forgot my dad's birthday. It's not the first time, either. Every year August comes around before I know it and sometime between one to ten days after his birthday, I suddenly remember. This year was no exception.

I remembered the day after his birthday and tried a few times to call him in the afternoon. He didn't answer his home phone. I wondered if I could get away with telling him I had been trying to call since yesterday. It's tempting, but I'll stick with being the worst daughter ever and not top it off with being a liar. I tried his cell phone in the afternoon.

He picks it up and it sounds like he's driving, but I can't make out anything he is saying. It sounds like electronic noise.
Hello? Dad?
ZZZzzZ
What?
Zzzz?
Dad? Can you hear me?
Zzz. ZzzzzZZZ Zzzz ZZ?
Hello? Uh yeah, I can't hear a thing. I will call you back later today.
zzzWENTY MINUTEzzzzz
Okay. Call you back in twenty minutes?
ZZ!!
Got it.
Definite technical difficulties.

A couple of months ago I called my dad from a busy airport to follow up on an email he hadn't responded to. When I asked him about it, he said, "Oh. I responded but it must not have gone through. I was on my iPhone."

Wait, what? Did he just say iPhone? No way. Surely the background noise drowned him out. He must have said, I.. was on MY Phone. Or even more plausible, he was using a dial-up connection for the internet but the phone rang when a telemarketer called and the email remained unsent. That sounds like a much more reasonable explanation. My septuagenarian father using an iPhone.... one that he owns... to send me an email? That is highly improbable.

I'm sorry, I didn't hear you correctly Dad... did you say I - Phone? Do you mean to say Jitterbug? Eye... phone?

"Yeah, your uncle talked me into getting an iPhone. I can't figure out how to use it most of the time."

Here, the story becomes more plausible. My father being talked into an iPhone purchase by his younger and gadget-loving brother, and then not having any idea which side to speak into... I could see that. Still, I'm skeptical. I saw him a few months ago and his cellphone looked like this:

And before that, like this.

Needless to say, the jump to an iPhone was a bit of a surprise. I have to admit, I was impressed. Even though I couldn't hear a word he was saying when I attempted my annual birthday apology call, I was impressed with the old hipster. I called back 20 minutes later and the reception was perfectly clear.

"Sorry dad, I couldn't hear a word you were saying."

"That's okay. I was on the Bluetooth."

Wait, what? Clearly my father is referring to something that requires dental work because never would I picture him driving around with a bluetooth in his ear. Who is this man? Where is the Nokia-toting technophobe I knew only a few short months ago? I am baffled. Somehow I have entered an alternate universe.

At any rate, I missed my dad's birthday and I'm still a jerk. I was unsuccessful at convincing him to change his birthdate to something easier to remember. I gave him a litany of excuses why I didn't call him on his birthday: I was working; I didn't realize it was August already; the dog ate my calendar; I don't have a fancy iPhone to do everything for me and my pen ran out of ink... He seemed fine with it, but I'm still a jerk and will remain a jerk for another 363 days when I have a chance to redeem myself again.

Later that evening I called my mother. They have been divorced for years, but they amicably coexist. I told her about my dad's new iPhone.

"Is that what you have?"
"No, I have a Droid. Dad's is automatically more hip because it's made by Apple."
"Oh." She suddenly and excitedly changes the subject:
"Hey! Did I tell you?!? I bought a Magic Jack!! Have you seen those on TV? You hook it up to your computer and save a ton of money on your phone bill. Your aunt is coming over today to hook mine up for me!"

And a calm suddenly comes over me as balance is finally restored to the universe. These are the parents I know and love.

How (not) to meet your neighbors

I have been getting the Washington Post delivered to my doorstep for the last six months. For the last few weeks, sections have been missing. I will open my door and instead of being met with a neat, fresh paper, I find sections spread apart, usually with one missing. I've noticed and I've been annoyed, but I haven't even been able to determine what section was missing so I couldn't have missed it too much. Today was different. Today - war was declared.

After a very fast-paced morning at work, I sat down in the break room with my newspaper and, as always, reached for the sports section first. But today, there was no sports section. No box scores, no news of what Gilbert Arenas is up to now, no Ovechkin, no John Wall, nothing but me and my sandwich - which my coworkers made fun of. It ruined my whole day.

Taking the sports section out of my Washington Post is a declaration of war. It's time to stop being nice and start getting real. I'm determined to put an end to this thievery for once and for all.

But what the hell do I do?

I can wake up at 5 a.m. every morning to claim my paper before the vagrants get at it, but I shouldn't have to miss sleep just to get the newspaper I pay for every day. A coworker suggested I solve the problem as he did in the past - got up as soon as the paper was delivered and tied a string to it, and pulled said string underneath his door and attached it to a frying pan, or something that would make noise and alert him as soon as the paper had been touched. It worked for him. He caught an old lady red-handed stealing his paper.

This is a good suggestion, but I sleep like a rock. I could probably tie the string to my toe while I was asleep and it still wouldn't wake me up as I was dragged across the floor. Finding a way to alert me in the early morning is not practical, so I handled the problem the way I handle most things - with passive aggressive humor. Tonight before I got ready for bed, I wrote with magic marker on a piece of paper and hung it on my door:

If you would like to read my newspaper, please leave your apartment number and I'll be happy to leave it by your door after I am done with it. If you insist on helping yourself, please leave 75 cents instead of stealing something that is not yours. Thank you so much!!

I taped it up tonight, and proceeded to put on my pajamas and get ready for bed. About fifteen minutes later, I heard someone outside my door. It sounded like tape being ripped, and I immediately expected that it was the newspaper thief, rejecting my passive-aggressive note and tearing it off the door.

Keep in mind, I'm still pissed off about the sports page. It really threw off my whole day. So, when I heard the noise, I ran to the door, swung it open with the fervor and self-righteousness of someone who has been morally wronged and ready to confront her tormentor. I leapt into the hallway like a pajama-clad superhero. I was ready for battle.

The thing is, I didn't really consider what I was going to say to this person. Nor did I consider what I would say if it was not, in fact, my sports page thief but my new neighbor standing outside of my door, tearing open his mail while he read the strange note on the neighbor's door. Which is exactly what happened. Needless to say, I was completely unprepared.

So, when I leapt outside of my doorway like a superhero named Captain Pajamas, I was met awkwardly by my new neighbor (who was wearing a suit, he had just returned from work) and we stared at one another in mutual surprise and silence. He said, "Uh... I was just reading your note." And I giggled and suddenly my superhero turned into her alter ego - an awkward giggly girl trying to explain things in a very stream of consciousness sort of way. "Oh." I said, "haha. Every morning someone takes a section of my newspaper... and... sport pages... really mad... frying pan..." How do you explain to someone why you nearly accosted them in your pj's? I wish I had a video so this incident could become a youtube sensation and Daniel Tosh could give me a web redemption. Unfortunately for all of us, none of this was captured on film. My crime fighting skills need a little work.

On the plus side, the new neighbor and I formally introduced ourselves to one another. One of us in a three-piece suit, the other in silky pajama bottoms, a t-shirt and no bra. He seems very nice and he suggested that I get an exploding blue ink packet like they use to catch bank robbers. He makes good sense. I hope to not run into him again for a while.

Lines on Ale

Now that I have cancelled HBO and ditched the expensive sports channels, I'm back to watching cable news networks when there's nothing on basic cable. I'm also back to remembering why it was worth the extra $30 per month to have the extra channels. The other night I watched Keith Obermann until I couldn't tolerate any more. Then I switched over to the O'Reilly Factor until I couldn't tolerate anymore. That continued on - back and forth until I lost the will to live. About ten times back and forth by 15 minutes into the hour.

Tonight I caught an episode of Glenn Beck's program where he does not compare the Obama administration to Nazi Germany. If you have not heard about this particular episode, Beck begins by talking about eugenics, Nazi Germany's racial politics, and healthcare reform in the United States. Beck repeats several times that he does not believe that Barack Obama is advocating eugenics, nor does he believe that Obama wants to "Pull the plug on Grandma" as he has been accused of with the so-called "Death Panels." Beck removes himself from these preposterous claims and says that is NOT what he is trying to say. Then he points out the reasons why the same philosophy in Nazi Germany may be an unintended consequence of the proposed healthcare reform. He makes no accusations that Obama's intention has any comparison eugenics of Nazi Germany, but all intentions aside - in a crisis situation, he points out why it may be a likely result if the current healthcare reforms are passed. He also goes on to suggest that the people Obama surrounds himself with may be capable of such unthinkable acts. All the time repeating that he is making no accusations on Obama's intentions whatsoever.

As Glenn Beck introduces his guests, I can't help but greet them with, "Nice to meet you. Your career is over." "Nice to meet you, your career is also over..." I'm watching and I'm shocked because I know - you can not mention Nazi Germany when speaking of the President of the United States. There are few things at all that you can make a logical and reasonable comparison to Hitler without sounding like a crackpot and losing credibility. This is especially so if you are reporting on Fox News. Likewise, if you are reporting on MSNBC making the same comparison with George W. Bush. Credibility is slim in this argument. I'm sure that the producers of this program knew how provocative this program would be, and they went ahead with it. I have to give them credit, they undoubtedly knew what kind of reaction it would get.

While I am shocked by the audacity of Beck's claims, I can't say as I necessarily disagree with part of his argument. If I try my best to be objective, I must admit I will never refute the possibility of the way this country may react to a crisis situation. If his argument is (as it appears to be) that in an economic crisis, we may begin pulling the plug on grandma as a desperate attempt to save younger patients, I can't really refute that. I really wouldn't refute any claim against our government or the American public if it began with "In a crisis situation..." Frankly, our country has a history during crisis situations to do some incredibly fucked up things.

Think of it this way - had there been a 24-hour news cycle and a 1942 version of Glenn Beck on a radio program claiming, "Japanese Americans beware!! President Roosevelt wants to drag American citizens from their homes and put them into camps!" He would not have been taken any more seriously than the current claims of Glenn Beck or Sean Hannity against Obama on their Fox News programs. Even in this lifetime, had a partisan political medium made the claim in 2000 that terrorists would fly airplanes into buildings on live television while the entire country watched, we would have found the whole scenario preposterous. That's a movie, that's a fantasy. That is not reality. Terrorists decimating the World Trade Center? Flying into the Pentagon? Taking over aircrafts armed only with box cutters? That just screams conspiracy theory. Yet, we all watched it happen didn't we? What if someone had told us that following said terrorist attack, the entire country would spend billions of dollars in resources and countless human lives taking over government and rebuilding a country unrelated to this this terrorist attack? C'mon! What are we? Idiots?!?

Well... yeah, we are.

I love this country and I think we are afforded a lot of freedoms we take for granted. (One of which is the free press that brings us these 24-hour news networks.) And for some reason, we think we are a lot smarter than we really are. This country has a long history of panicking in a crisis situation. Don't ever underestimate what this country is capable of when faced with a real fear (Like 9/11, like Pearl Harbor...) Death Panels, euthanizing elderly people... in a crisis situation? You bet. The politics of fear could easily sell this to America. Hell, people could even be scared into forming militias to be sent into senior citizen centers. History has informed me and I would not rule it out. When Americans fear our freedom and our lifestyle - we will support things that are clearly preposterous with the benefit of foresight or hindsight.

Here's the problem with Glenn Beck. The politics of fear may work in a certain demographic - in this case the elderly (which also happen to be largely Republican) may take Beck's suggestions gravely serious. But when the overall population has the benefit of foresight and logical thinking, they will clearly identify this as fearmongering. For the same reason they would not have believed Japanese internment camps would be a possibility, for the same reason none of us would would ever have been prepared for a group of well-organized terrorists to take over aircrafts with box-cutters and change our lives forever. For the same reason that forming a detention center in Cuba for terrorists, exempt from U.S. protocol would seem far-fetched. Had Keith Obermann gone on his show with a panel warning us of that outcome, it would seem just as preposterous as the Republicans do with their claims of Death Panels, eugenics, and granny mercy killings.

Glenn Beck may have crossed a line by drawing parallels between Nazis and Obama's healthcare reform and he probably won't be surprised to feel backlash and loss of sponsorship. Fearmongering is effective only when there is a clear and present danger. In this country, people are more afraid of the state of healthcare as it exists now. People who are struggling or unable to pay for insurance and medical bills could be in a crisis situation right now, and that is the fear they are responding to, not the fear of death panels or eugenics.

Can we start over?

I'm watching the Presidential debate and I was ready to turn it off after exactly 13 minutes. Every time Tom Brokaw asks a question they answer with, "Well, my opponent said..." I don't want to hear this. I don't want to hear about how afraid we should be if the other guy gets elected. I don't want either one of them running my country. Can we just wipe the slate clean and start over with some real nominees? These people - John McCain and Barack Obama - are a joke. Sarah Palin is a punchline, McCain and Obama are a joke. The joke is on us my friends! And when I say, "my friends" I mean that if McCain keeps saying that phrase I'm going to scream. Ditto for Obama starting his sentence with "Look..."

Both of these candidates sound like children.

adult: "Barry, did you break the neighbor's window?"
child: "But Johnny broke the whole door!"
adult: "Johnny, did you break the door?"
child: "But Barry's going to raise your taxes and meet the repairman without preconditions!"

Change you can't believe in

I moved to D.C. the day after graduation. This jar is one of the many things on my to-do list that remained undone. It's silly to haul 10 lbs. of spare change across the country in a moving truck, but today something even more ridiculous happened. I'm finally short enough on cash to take this heavy haul to the bank; now I'm back from the bank but I still have the jar of change. Is it because I like to carry heavy bags around town? Is it because I hate my back and I'm deliberately trying to break it? No. I still have the money because the bank refused to take it.

Apparently the bank of America won't cash in spare change for their customers unless it's in rolls. The teller apologized and offered me some empty rolls to fill in my spare time and bring them back. She also gave me the other option of having it sent somewhere off-site to be counted for a $5 charge. Maybe it's just the branch near my apartment (3 excruciating blocks away) or maybe Bank of America is just too big to deal with spare change. The question is, what do I do with it now? Use it to buy groceries? Sell it on eBay?

I've never been to a bank that didn't have a machine on-site to count change. Usually it's free for customers and a couple of bucks for everyone else. I pondered this as I walked home (between whimpers of "Ouch - my back!") Is this just a Midwestern thing? How presumptuous of me to bring money into my bank and expect them to just put it in my account.

Vocabulary Optional

It was time. I think it's been over a year since I got my hair cut. If you've seen me lately, that shouldn't surprise you. I was beginning to resemble Cousin It. My curls look silly if my hair is short, but it shouldn't be so long that I look like I'm trying to win a contest. Remember the fingernail guy in the Guinness Book of World Records? After a certain length, they just start to twist out of control. That's kinda' what happened with my locks.

Yesterday I found out that I'll be attending a seminar at work, and I'm expected to host part of it. That means standing up in front of a crowd of people. Not one of my favorite things to do, but at least they're college students. It shouldn't be too hard, but as soon as I found out I was going to be doing some public speaking, I scheduled a hair appointment.

Back in Iowa, I spent anywhere from $10-$25 on a haircut. I asked around and heard that in DC, even Supercuts would run about $25. So, I went to a place near my apartment that had a good reputation, a $45 haircut and an open spot tonight.

I walked into the salon, was guided to the shampoo station where a woman scrubbed my scalp like she was cleaning the kitchen floor with a hand-sponge. She said a few words, but I'm not sure if they were to me or if they were even in english. After that, she led me to the next room.

When I walked in, an older gentleman said, "Ah!" and popped up to lead me to the salon chair. Wordlessly, he draped the cape around me and began to brush my hair with as much vigor as the shampoo scrub-woman. He didn't say a word, just brushed my unbrushable curls and said nothing when my head bobbed and wiplashed with every tangle. When his hands were close to my face, I could smell a strong odor of stale cigarette smoke. At that point, I began to look around. It was hard to focus with all of the bobbing and thrashing going on around my noggin, but I didn't see any licenses or anything on the wall. I wondered what the hell I had gotten myself into. For all I know, this guy could be the janitor. I didn't even know his name. I wasn't even sure if he was going to ask how I wanted it cut or just start snipping. I had no idea what was going on.

Finally, he said, "How you want?" Obviously he didn't speak english very well, so I just said, "manageable." I'm pretty sure he had no clue what that word meant. He narrowed it down to, "Long? Short?" Oh boy. This could be scary hair by the time it was all over.

I realize this is another one of those trivial blog entries, but think about this situation - you're at a new hairstylist and you can only communicate with the person by using the most basic descriptive words. For me, it was difficult - my hair is part of my identity. If people meet me when my hair is down, they don't recognize me when I put it up in a ponytail. And, vice versa. It's already happened at both of my jobs - the first time my hair was down, people thought I was someone new they hadn't met. My hair is big and curly and it commands attention. It makes its own rules, there's nothing I can do but go with it.

But even if you don't have hair that steals the spotlight, how strange would it be to go to a stylist and sit quietly while they cut your hair? For the most part, stylists seem to stick with the same conversational formulas. They ask the probing questions - are you a student? does your family live here? blah blah blah and there's always chatter to fill in the silences. I have never had so many boring conversations in my life as I have in a salon chair. Any salon chair.

So, once we got going, I was starting to dig Mennan. (His name was on his business card.) He was concentrating on the cut while I watched, and every once in a while he brought the hair between his fingertips and said, "There?" and I answered, "Okay." We had that conversation about five times. The only real substantial exchange was when I threw him off with the "manageable" request. He asked me a question, it sounded like, "Model? You see model?" I answered, "Where?" (a nice way of saying, "What the hell are you talking about? What model?") He went and got some books so I could show him a picture of what I wanted. Most of the girls in the book had straight hair, I said, "Not many curls." That's when we had are longest exchange:

Him: You perm.
Me: No, it's natural curl.
Him: You perm.
Me: Uhh... no I've never had a perm. [b/c I don't know if he's trying to argue where the curls came from or try to sell me a perm.]

He looked a little flustered this time & grabbed a big roller from the next station. He said "Big curls" and made a wavy motion w/his hand. He seemed to be really into the idea of giving me a perm with big rollers. I'm more adventurous with my hair than you might think, but I answered that one honestly and succinctly, "Costs money." He walked away - still flustered - and came back dragging the guy from the front desk. They spoke to each other in Italian while they made hand gestures and pointed at my hair. The other guy said, "He thinks you would like a perm w/the big rollers to give you long wavy curls." "How much would that cost?" "$140" [I didn't respond in english that time, just sort of a grunt with a hand-to-heart motion as if I'd been shot.] Then they argued a little bit and I heard Mennan say, "Low! Low!" and the other guy was shaking his head now. Mennan was pointing to the ground and seemed to be telling the guy to charge me less. It was funny - he was really committed to this idea of giving me a perm w/the big rollers. Finally the other guy went away and I was going to explain that I just graduated, I paid a dentist $365 to poke around in my mouth today, and the $45 haircut alone was a huge splurge. It would've been futile, so I just watched and he finished my hair in silence interrupted by a few utterances of "Here?" and then, "I shear" before he pulled out the thinning shears and make a quick snip at the ends. Not a bad idea to keep it from getting bunched up.

When I walked out, I was thinking - this was great! No b.s. conversation about my life or Brittany Spears or the weather or whatever the hell stylists talk about just to keep some rapport. This guy was kinda' cool. He was an older guy, and he seemed more suited to be welcoming Frank Sinatra into an Italian restaurant than cutting my hair. He did look like a successful night-club owner in all the mafia films. He could be a movie extra for that genre. As long as there's no dialogue.

In the end, it turns out - no dialogue is a great thing. It was weird at first when I thought he was a custodian, but after he got so inspired with the perm idea and kept checking the length over and over, I think he's probably pretty good at his job. In fact, his other job may be a successful night club/Italian restaurant owner. If it is, I bet he's good at that, too.

I'm home now and I didn't shell out the extra scratch to get it styled or blow-dried, so I walked home looking a bit like Scary Spice (Pre-Eddie Murphy) I'm going to bed super early tonight, get a good night's rest, and see how this 'do works out tomorrow. Now that it's dry, it's pretty short but I think that's a good thing. It was all length and no style. Now, hopefully, it's got some style. I think Mennan does. I can't say for sure b/c I can't communicate in anything other than a 5-10 word vocabulary, but I like him. Maybe I should go get some Italian language tapes from the library (Yes, I already have my card!) and I can keep going back to Mennan and learn Italian at the same time. $45 haircut/language lessons? Seems like a money saver when you throw that in!

I hope you are all doing well and are not spending more than $25 on a haircut. I may have to do what I told Mennan I was going to do before I get a perm, "Piggy bank."

It's starting to rain and I'm getting sleepy. I'm skipping laundry night and putting it off a couple of days. I'm way too tired. G'night everyone and stay out of the rain! And remember my tale of how nice it can be when you don't have to share an obligatory conversation with someone else. Even if they do have your vanity in their hands.

The right foot, and the one that I started off on

Everything is coming together. I'm ridiculously busy, but completely driven to get things taken care of. When I was offered the job in DC, my new boss had wanted someone to start right away. She gave me a start date of May 30th to make sure I had enough time, but I could start sooner. Things are moving right along, I've fallen behind for finals week, but not enough to hurt my GPA too terribly much. So, I emailed my new boss today to let her know that it's impossibly ambitious, but my goal is to start work one week ahead of time.

Yeah, well... that didn't quite go over as well as I had hoped.

It's my fault for being a nimwit. First of all, I was operating under the "ASAP" timeline since my new employers have waited so long for this position to be filled. (What is it that happens when you assume?) The real reason I'm a twit is b/c I was so non-committal when I contacted her about it. If you've known me for a while, you'll know that I hate making commitments. Commitment is a four-letter word - like "death" or "marriage" it's something I try my best to avoid (despite some close calls.) So, when I sent my new employer an email that said, "I can't make a commitment and I may end up behind schedule but I'm aiming to start on the 23rd..." her response was - No problem. Since you're not sure, let's just stick with the 30th.

Wait, what?!? No! When I said, "I may end up behind schedule," what I really meant was, "I've already rented a truck, asked my friends to take time off of work, and purchased plane tickets so that I can start next week and fly back for my brother's reception."

I don't understand how this miscommunication happened.

I'm hoping that she was just being nice and saying, "Take your time, no big deal" by sticking with the 30th, but by the time I responded to her email, it was after 5pm EST, and I didn't get a response. I should've just said in the first place: Block out your calendar cuz I'm starting on the 23rd.

In my horror of waiting another week to start work, my tone was much more committal for the response email to her. I suppose I'll find out in the morning. If it turns out that I've worked my schedule toward a time that's inconvenient for my new boss, that will be a very depressing way to start off. I'll still move on the same days and fly back for Mark and Jamie's reception, I just won't be gainfully employed. The real tragedy would be having all that extra time on my hands after I've spent the last two weeks in a stress-filled and overly-ambitious rage trying to get things done and out the door early.

Ah well. Life goes on, I'll keep putting one foot in front of the other - even if they both happen to be left feet.