Could DC residents survive the Zombie Apocalypse?

Last night was the season finale of The Walking Dead on AMC. This is an exceptional show that I wish more people in my social circle watched, because sometimes I really need to talk to someone after an episode, but there is no one to be found. So, I must go to the discussion forums on imdb.

The problem with the imdb forums is that a lot of people have already read the comic book, which is much farther ahead than what we have seen on the television show. From what I understand the tv show has made some deviations and character changes, but for the most part it follows the comic. This is problematic because I avoid the comics to stay away from spoilers, but reading an imdb forum where contributors have read them, I’m very likely to accidentally come across a spoiler. So, I try to read conversations that focus on a certain episode or seem spoiler-averse. Today someone posed the question to fans, “With where you currently live, do you think you could survive [The Zombie Apocalypse]?”

This is an interesting question for this forum because the contributors to the message boards are from all around the world, so everyone would have a different perspective. It has crossed my mind to question what I would do in this situation, but only long enough to realize I would be zombie bait. I don’t think any asthmatics would fare well in this environment. I would probably be very ironically killed by running for my life and having an asthma attack and dying. But, removing my asthma and general lack of cajones from the equation, I never considered the geographic pros and cons of being in Washington, DC. So, without further ado, here they are.

Pro #1) Government buildings. The District is considered to be vulnerable for terrorist activity, so while I don’t know the statistics, I would venture to guess that the city holds more panic rooms and bomb shelters per capita than anywhere else in the United States. The President lives here, members of congress, Supreme Court justices… Chris Matthews, Tony Kornheiser… What I’m saying is there are a lot of high profile people who live here, and there are buildings created with hypothetical pandemic and/or apocalyptic survival situations in mind.

Con #1) I am not the President, a member of congress, a Supreme Court justice, Tony Kornheiser or Chris Matthews. The likelihood that I would have access to one of these shelters could be slim.

Con #2) No guns. The strict gun control laws in the district would leave us extremely ill-equipped for defending ourselves from a zombie attack. We would need access to a lot of weapons, which brings me to…

Pro #2) Proximity to Virginia. Virginia has the right to keep and bear arms written into their state constitution. If I can make my way to Virginia, that is where my looting will begin.

Con #3) My apartment building. I live in a 12-story apartment building and it is very well populated. If the majority of the world population becomes zombies, the majority of my building would be full of people shuffling around and trying to eat my brain. There are a few residents I already suspect of being zombies, but they have never done anything to me, so live-and-let-live. Or, live-and-let-living-dead, as the case may be.

Pro #3) My apartment building. On second thought, there are a lot of 20-and-30-something professionals in my building, so we may just fare better than say, a frat house. Or a hospital. Or a retirement community. Although thanks to rent-control laws, there are quite a few retired people who opt to spend their twilight years in the same apartment where they have lived for decades. I am not judging. I am well on my way to becoming one of those people. But they would very likely contract that zombie virus long before I run out of inhalers & join their ranks.

Conclusion: The likelihood of the average citizen surviving in Washington, DC [edit: as compared to other geographical areas] = 50/50.

It may seem like I am over thinking this question, but I think it’s been a healthy exercise. It's always good to be prepared for any situation. Even the U.S. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention think so. My thoughtful consideration has taught me that it’s probably in my best interest to become friendly with a few more Virginians. And important government officials. I currently have a disproportional number of friends who are attorneys, which might serve me well if the zombies were just stealing my property or sexually harassing me, but fairly worthless for battling the average brain-eating variety of zombies. I don’t know that their extensive knowledge of the United States Code or their exceptional wardrobes will be much good in that situation. Unless they are from Virginia, of course. If they are from Virginia, they may have just moved to the top of my dance card.

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.

Not a film review: Pariah at Lincoln Theatre

Tonight the Lincoln Theatre in DC hosted a screening of the new film Pariah, followed by a Q&A panel discussion with writer/director Dee Rees, producer Nekisa Cooper, and actors Adepero Oduye and Kim Wayans. I was not sure what to expect from the film, but I was very excited to see Kim Wayans in a dramatic role. I have fond childhood memories of watching Hollywood Shuffle and In Living Color with friends when we were not quite sophisticated enough to understand all of the adult humor, but just old enough to love it and repeat catchphrases for years to come. (But I ain't one to gossip, so you didn't hear that from me!) The Wayans are an immensely talented family and Kim's dramatic performance was enough to bring me to the Lincoln Theatre tonight. Yet, there is so much more than Kim's outstanding performance that make this film worthwhile.

In short, the film is about a 17-year old girl (Alike, or "Lee") coming to terms with her lesbian identity, and struggling with the expectations and influence of her family and friends. All of the actors in the film do a spectacular job of bringing very real characters to life on the screen - each battling their own personal challenges.

Pariah is an impressive film. Writer Dee Rees has brought very rich and complex characters to the screen in a relatively short debut film (86 minutes, according to IMDB) I see a lot of movies, and most of them rely on a standard formula. In the first 30 minutes of most films, you can often predict certain elements - you know who is going to fall in love with who, the tragic flaws within the characters begin to develop and you begin to take things for granted on where the plot is going. Pariah constantly kept me guessing. Judging by the title and subject matter of the film, I was repeatedly trying to predict the "gotcha" moment or dramatic climax that was going to happen next, but I was always pleasantly surprised. The flow of the film is such as life. I never knew which direction the story was going to go, just as Lee herself never quite knew how to handle herself in those situations. The interaction between the family was so familiar that there were scenes that had the audience laughing that may not have been intentionally humorous, but something as small as a reaction of a spouse, parent or sibling felt so familiar that the theater filled with murmurs of laughter. It felt like a shared experience because on some level, we have all had the same awkward interactions in our own lives. It is this familiarity that makes the movie feel so real.

In a word, "real" is the best way I can describe the film. It is not just the overall feeling of the film, but in the literal sense as well. During the Q&A discussion after the screening, writer Dee Rees explained that she based the film on her personal experiences. While it is not completely autobiographical, she shared many experiences and struggles of the main character. It portrays the experience of many people in the LGBT community who have struggled with their sexual identity while looking for love and suffering their own family conflict, but it is such a personal glimpse, that it is easy to relate to the characters and what they are going through. Anyone who has felt that they did not fit in and has ever struggled with the expectations of family or friends will likely see a part of themselves in Lee. During the Q&A, an audience member explained that she was of the same generation as the mother (Kim Wayans' character) in the film, and it helped her as a parent to see the other side of the struggle in accepting children for who they are, rather than who they are expected to be. After this comment, Dee Rees' response was so genuine and touching as she explained that is the reaction she had hoped for when working on the film - To reach people and allow them to understand the main character's internal struggle and coming of age, while constantly dealing with the labels that other people have projected onto her.

It is a very impressive film and the filmmakers made it clear that it will have a very limited release beginning in December, so word-of-mouth is very important in encouraging people to see the film. I don't know how persuasive of a case I have made since it is getting late and we all know I am challenged when it comes to film reviews anyway. So what I am saying here is - I encourage you to see the film. More information about Pariah can be found here.

Her name is not really Sally

The management at my part-time job has been on a hiring frenzy lately. Between back-to-school shoppers and the upcoming holiday season, they have decided to nearly double the size of the staff. It has been a bit of a challenge to learn everyone’s name. I've started to call everyone by the name Sally.

One thing I have learned after 10+ years in retail – Don’t get too attached to coworkers. They come and go pretty quickly and there’s an awkward breaking-in period. Just when you get used to bonding with the same people, they move on and are replaced by new hires. The new Sallies always ask a lot of questions. I think it’s important that they know where the bathroom is, the rest they can figure out on their own. I’m not a complete jerk, but generally I don’t go out of my way to be nice to Sallies.

These days, a lot of the new employees are over-qualified victims of a bad economy. Some of them will tell you upon your first encounter, “I have a degree in engineering. This is only temporary for me.” Others you can assume by the look of contempt on their face that they are clearly taking a position below their intended path in life.

But then, who isn’t? Everyone is underpaid and it is the rare individual who is fortunate enough to find themselves 100% fulfilled, challenged and compensated. It just doesn’t happen very often. Most of us fall into a sliding scale of acceptance of what we do for a living versus our dream job.

Over the weekend, I worked with three people I had never met before. After working a busy cashwrap with one such person, I was struck by how comfortable she seemed and how effortlessly she interacted with customers. She didn’t have any questions and seemed completely in her element. When we caught a free moment, she formally introduced herself, “I’m Sally, by the way.” This was after we had been working side-by-side for 30 minutes. Most of us sneak a peak at a nametag when we’re learning names, but I appreciated the friendly gesture.

We chatted a bit and I was surprised to find that despite her apparent expertise, she’d only worked there a month. She said she had been working in several different departments within the store that she didn’t like as well. She quickly clarified, “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really happy to have a job in a bookstore. This is a nice place to work; I just enjoy some departments more than others. Well actually... I’m just happy to work. Period. I moved here to live with my mom after I graduated and wasn’t sure if I’d find anything, so this is great. I’m very happy to be here.”

For a moment, I thought maybe she meant that she had just graduated from high school. Not because she looked that young, but because she was so upbeat about working at the bookstore after graduation. There is a different tone that is generally used by recent college grads to convey this information. I am accustomed to the undertone that says, “This is not what I had in mind when I spent years of my life and thousands of dollars on an education.” Her tone did not imply anything at all. Everything she said came across at face value – I’m happy to have a job. Things could be much worse.

Her peculiar optimism led me down a line of questioning that confirmed she had just graduated from college, at a school in the same conference as my Alma mater (Go Big Ten! (except Michigan)!!) Her mother is currently living in the DC Metro area, so she moved in with her mom and has been sending out her resume in DC and got this new job with the recent hiring blitz.

She admitted that her situation was not ideal. She would like to have a job in her field and earn more money. She doesn't want to sleep on an air mattress in her mother's small apartment forever, but for now - she's able to contribute and she's willing to work hard to move up. She'll work hard while she's at the store. Whatever she's doing, she does her best to make herself invaluable. That's the best way to work her way up. And she's happy to have a job, that's the first hurdle.

These are all her assertions, not mine. And she continued on about her situation without an ounce of cynicism. I was stunned. Sure, we all remind ourselves that things could be worse - but that's usually after feeling sorry for ourselves for a while. This girl still had the ambition of a recent college grad - despite taking a less-than-ideal job, despite the air mattress, despite the compromised hourly wage. I was impressed. I told her I knew a few people and would pass her name along for potential entry-level jobs.

And on Monday morning, that's exactly what I did. Now, you should know, I'm not usually any more proactive about job referrals than I am at introducing myself to new coworkers. If your Facebook page is updated constantly throughout your work day with new YouTube videos, I'm not a good person to come to for a reference. I would never suggest someone for a job unless I was confident that they would work out. Yet, Monday morning, there I was sending off multiple emails to anyone who may have entry-level office positions that pay more than what Sally is making now. And I don't even know her.

I sent an email to a friend working for a placement agency and she said she will contact Sally about possible administrative positions, based on my "glowing referral". It was at that point I realized how much I have taken for granted. Can this girl even type? I assume so. She pushed the buttons on the cash registers quite efficiently. It is a safe assumption that anyone with a liberal arts degree has experience in writing and typing papers, using the Microsoft Office suite, and using multiple databases and research materials. But it is still an assumption.

What is it about her that makes me not only wish her well, but actively put forth the effort, despite any knowledge of her qualifications? I only spent an hour with her, some of it while at work and some in the breakroom (we didn't have the entire conversation on the sales floor. Give us some credit!) I was really inspired by her positive attitude and her work ethic. It wasn't just to help her out, but felt like I was helping anyone who is fortunate enough to employ her. Who wouldn't love to have an employee with that kind of attitude and ambition? That's really all I was thinking of when I spread the word about this great potential employee. Clearly I wasn't thinking about any skills or experience, because I don't have a clue what kind of experience she has. Perhaps I should have asked a few more questions before boasting about her.

I wish I could end this story with a happily-ever-after, that one of my friends hired her and now she's worked her way up and is running the company. That would be impressive since it's only been three days. I'll give her a little more time and keep you updated. Whatever happens, I'm sure she'll land on her feet. And I hope she never loses that great attitude. But I'm still not going to get too attached to her. There will be a new Sally next weekend. I'm sure of that.

Post-quake pics

The earthquake this afternoon seems very anti-climactic now that I've heard from so many people across the country who learned about it on the news. By the time my coworkers and I figured out what was happening, it was over. The only exception was one coworker who has lived on the west coast who instinctively said, "It's an earthquake! I'm getting under my desk." and she immediately vanished into thin air. That took all of a few moments and the next few hours were spent like this:

The folks who drive to work were unable to leave because no one was able to enter the parking ramp until it was deemed safe. I considered taking the rest of the afternoon off, then I looked around and imagined the same crowd in the Metro station, which is exactly what I would have been met with. So we continued to wait.

Traffic became gridlocked as far as the eye could see and emergency vehicles showed up along the block. Every employee stood outside of their buildings in varying levels of panic. The defining moment of the afternoon happened when one employee took a close look at the emergency vehicles and said, "It's going to be okay, everyone. It's going to be okay. The Printing Police are here!!"

Upon closer examination:

No disrespect, but we do not work for the GPO, nor do we have any association with them. I can't even name all of the different police forces we have in this city, but I'm guessing on the hierarchy of important people, the GPO force doesn't get deployed to the VIP section of town. That's all I'm sayin'.

In the end, most people I know had a similar experience and we are all lucky to be safe and sound with a new story to tell. As I took these photos, a coworker complimented me on "keeping my cool throughout" and wandering around taking photos while the smokers were on their fifth cigarette and the non-smokers were bumming cigarettes from the smokers. I reject this compliment because sometimes I think that it is stupidity that keeps someone cool in a potentially dangerous situation. I blame it on my childhood. I grew up in a house next to the railroad tracks, so shaking buildings do not trigger any panic reflex. But I still always wonder if I would have taped the penny to the tracks, would it really have derailed a train and killed everyone on board like my brother told me? I'm pretty sure he was lying, but that was one I opted to err on the side of caution rather than call his bluff. Plus, you could still buy one Swedish Fish for a penny back in those days so that seemed like a better investment.

I think I'll eat some Swedish Fish right now and start surfing the internet for some earthquake stories more interesting than mine.

A Tourist in my Pocket

Next month marks my third anniversary as a DC resident, and my adoration for this city grows with every year. The only thing I love more than exploring this city is when people from back home come to visit me. Showing someone else the wonders of DC is like seeing it again myself for the first time. I often walk alone through the city and feel like the luckiest person in the world to be able to live in such a wonderful place. Last week I walked to the zoo. How often does the average person visit a zoo? Once a year? I can walk four blocks and pay the elephants a visit any day of the week. There is so much to see and do in this city and I hope I never take any of it for granted. Having visitors is always a great way to share my enthusiasm for the city.

This week I have a new guest staying with me. His name is Flat Stanley, and he comes from a second grade class in Illinois, not far from where I grew up. Stanley belongs to the daughter of a dear friend who I have known my whole life. He arrived yesterday via USPS (a very reasonable alternative to air travel in this day and age.) He's very quiet, extremely polite and doesn't have much of an appetite. He's still a bit envelope-lagged from so much travel, so this weekend he will rest up and on Monday he's going to come to work with me and I'll show him around the city. We have a lot of fun stuff planned - we'll visit the National Zoo, Union Station, and as many monuments as we can pack in while he's here. Of course we will have to have a photo-op in front of the White House as well. Poor Stanley really wants to meet the President. I tried to explain to him about the Secret Service and since I don't know the Salahi's, there's no way we can just drop in and visit the President without a formal invitation. He told me he understood, but he seemed a little disappointed. Hopefully a visit to the National Postal Museum will take his mind off of it. After his long journey through the mail, the Postal Museum seems like the ideal place to begin his adventures as a tourist in DC. I am looking forward to showing him around the city and taking lots of pictures before I send him back to his second grade classroom in Illinois next week.

As you can see from his big smile in the picture, Stanley is very happy to be here. He is especially enjoying my copy of Strange Bedfellows, by Russell L. Peterson. He says he wants to learn a bit more about politics before he starts to explore the nation's capital. He finds the book to be a fascinating and well-researched study on the relationship between "infotainment" & political comedy and the political process. He's surprisingly intellectual for a second grader.

Spring is in the air... and so am I!

Let's not beat around the bush. 2010 sucked. I wasn't crazy about 2009, but I clearly didn't give it enough credit because it's successor brought everything but success for this DC Hawkeye. Health problems, financial problems, and working seven days a week was an unpleasant way to spend those 365 days. But I'm not here to complain about the past; I'm here to start 2011 off with a bang. There have been many wonderful changes in my life since December brought 2010 to a close and things are just now starting to settle down. Unfortunately, all the stress of the last year and the adjustment to starting a new job and changing my living situation has left me with a residual case of the blues. Drastic measures were needed. I didn't just need a little cheering up, I needed fun and excitement. I needed a reminder of how awesome life can be without even leaving the comfort of my own city. I needed to get active and rejuvenate my mind, my mood, my entire body. I needed trapeze.

Trapeze School New York (TSNY) has a permanent location in Washington, DC. Their flying trapeze classes are two of the most fun and exciting hours I have ever experienced. I took three classes back in 2009 (I told you 2010 sucked. It was a trapezeless year of my life, wasted.) I loved the trapeze from the first time I jumped off the platform and went soaring through the summer air. On March 17th of this year, I decided to climb out of my slump on St. Patrick's Day and up a 23-foot ladder to fly through the air once again.

I was nervous about getting back up there after so long, so I went through the entire ground school of instruction once again to get a refresher on all the safety guidelines. In 2009 I was on to learning my third trick, but I wasn't very confident after all of that time off so I decided to start with the first trick I ever learned (the knee hang) but by the end of class it had all come back to me and I was begging to try out my splits once again. The agreed and went over it with me once again. Eventually when I perfect the trick, I'll have someone on the next bar to catch me when I move from the split position. The video you see above is my first attempt at a split after my 18-month hiatus. It may not look like much on a tiny video file, but it felt fantastic!

I can't say that my case of the blues is completely cured, but it is definitely fading away. Flying on a trapeze is a great way to wake up your body and your mind. My body was awakened so much, it was practically screaming every time I moved a muscle the next two days. Ouch. I seriously need to start doing yoga this year.

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.

DC Hawkeye on Ice

I love hockey. There are few things I love more than hockey, but I should clarify: There are few things I love more than watching hockey. I have never played hockey. Despite my predisposition toward anything involving humiliation and/or physical injury, I've never even strapped on a pair of skates. It's something I've wanted to do for years and have talked to friends about going out and doing, but it just never got done. Until today.

This time I didn't even try to sucker anyone into going with me, I decided to go to Kettler after work and find out what I'm made of.

The timing wasn't random, it was actually inspired by this article in yesterday's Washington Post Express about a hockey "skills & drills" class. The part that captured my interest was how they describe that the class "...takes anyone who can skate and teaches them how to hustle a puck." That sentence alone got me into a pair of rented ice skates 24 hours after reading. Having "learn how to skate" on my to-do list is one thing, but considering that to be the only thing standing between me and learning some mad puck-handling skills is another thing altogether. Learning to skate is no longer the goal, it's the annoying precursor to the awesomeness of me actually playing hockey someday. Heck, I play in a skeeball league, hockey is the next logical step, right?

So, a few hours after I read the article I began looking online for places that have beginners lessons on how to skate. There are a few places in the area, but it looks like my best bet if I want to start learning ASAP is in Rockville. They have a six-week class that began on May 15th, but I can still sign up having missed the first class. I was ready to do it, but I thought it would be best to head out to Kettler and find out exactly what I'm dealing with here. I mean, if I break my ankle during my first class, then I've wasted a lot of money! I want to know I'll be able to make it five weeks. Naturally, I headed out to Kettler so I could break my ankle tonight with less financial burden.

I didn't break the ankle after all, though I expect it will be a bit swollen tomorrow from all the wobbling.

This was a very difficult thing to do by myself. I knew that I could have found someone to go with me sometime this week, but I was on a mission. I had to do it today while I was making up my mind about the classes in Rockville. I arrived at the adult public skate as the Zamboni was resurfacing the ice. Then I watched a line of adults skate out onto the rink. Some were off to the side working on various skills, but most of them were skating laps around the ice. It was very much like the roller skating rink. Everyone skates in a circle at various speeds. I asked the girl at the skate rental counter, "I have never skated before. Would it be a horrible idea to go out there right now, never having any lessons, not knowing what I'm doing?" She thought it was a great idea. "You're never going to learn anything until you get out there." Damn her and her skating wisdom! I half wanted her to talk me out of it. She did the opposite of talking me out of it. She encouraged me.

Not only did the girl at the rental counter encourage me, but she was extremely helpful. She gave me some tips - told me to try figure skates first, rather than hockey skates. She showed me the different blades and explained how you have to balance your center of gravity differently on hockey skates and it's harder to do if you're skating for the first time. She told me not to try and use the toepick to stop, and then (bless her heart) when I told her my shoe size, she examined all of the skates to find a good, sharp blade. She told me where the lockers were and sent me on my way.

I was surprised at how well I stayed balanced on the skates, but that didn't stop me from clinging to the boards for dear life. I recognized one of the guys as a Kettler employee and asked him for pointers. He was so unimpressed with me. "I can't, I've got to watch the skate." I explain, "Oh no, I'm not asking you to 'show' me anything, I just don't know how to get started. How long of a stride I should take, how to lean, that sort of stuff. You don't have to show me, just tell me how to push off." He was unflinching: "Ehhhhh, I'm not an instructor." I was obnoxious: "But you know how to skate!" The best I could get out of him was that the instructors say to stride about the same as walking, and to hang onto the sides all the way around the rink if I have to. Thanks! I hope no shenanigans went on during the public skate while you took the time to talk to me!

I kid the skate supervisor, but I did heed his advice about hanging onto the sides. I stayed within an arm's length of the boards at all times. It was like training wheels. I'd get going for a while and then I would wobble and catch myself. I think the ice along the sides may have been harder to skate on because there were so many grooves already in the ice that I could feel myself skating in and out of divots, which made it harder to maintain my balance. In the endzones there were a lot of people working on various skills, so it was considerably more embarrassing to make my way around the corners because people had to get out of my way. It was pretty clear that I was going to keep my grip and was not going to go around them. (For their own safety, really. If they're standing between me and the ledge, I'm still gonna grab the closest thing to me when I lose my balance. Better to be the boards than them!)

I took a couple of laps and each time I was interrupting the same people who were camped out along the endzones. They were not hanging on for safety as I was, they were working with other people on specific skills. Two girls looked like they were doing some kind of ballet moves and using the ledge as a barre. They did not much care for my intrusions. In fact, many of the people looked annoyed as I made my laps. I came around the corners very apologetically and poking fun at myself while letting them know it was my first time. Everyone was accommodating and usually nice about it. It still didn't stop some people from scowling at me. I began to wish I had worn an eye patch, or something that would immediately make them feel sympathetic toward me or think that something was wrong with me so they would be more patient. If I had some deformity, or was wearing a head brace or neck brace or something, I think I would have gotten a warmer response from other skaters. I didn't have anything to outwardly evoke sympathy. I could never fake something like that and my actual physical shortcomings wouldn't have warmed anyone up to my strugles. For example, if I had skated by shouting, "Asthmatic, coming through" or, "Pardon me, I have irritable bowels" as I plowed through the arena. Nope, I'm just a regular person with regular problems, who just happens to not have a clue how to skate.

I took three good laps and it started to get easier until the Kettler employee who is not an instructor blew the horn and everyone began to skate the opposite direction. This was a game-changer. Up until then I felt like I was making progress with my right hand out to steady myself, grabbing the boards when I slipped up (which became less and less frequent.) When we switched directions, I had to use my left hand to catch myself, and that was much harder to keep steady. After one more lap I knew it was time to quit. If I sign up for lessons in Rockville, my first class will be this Saturday and I didn't want to push myself harder and put more strain on my poor ankles before then. Plus, the exasperated looks of the other skaters was beginning to make me feel self conscious. My Midwestern sensibilities recognized these two rules of thumb: Don't beat yourself up before you even begin, and don't wear out your welcome. It was definitely time to go.

I returned to the skate rental counter and my friend from earlier was at another counter talking to coworkers. I called her over and she asked if I was trading the skates for another size, I said, "No, I'm done. I'm turning them in." She said, "Oh. You can just leave them on the counter." I was hoping she would ask how it went and talk to me some more about how to get used to skating. Instead, she pretty much told me that I had called her over there for no reason. She was so over me. It was time to go.

I'm going to keep at it and eventually it will get easier and the wobbling will stop. After that, I'll move on to the new challenges of trying to learn how to handle a puck. It's times like this when I wish I could be a kid again. Trying new things is so much easier before we learn the concept of humiliation.



Sign in time: 8:02 p.m.



Sign out time: 8:25 p.m. That includes the time it took to rent the skates, get some pointers, and get a locker. I must have been on the ice only 15 minutes but it felt so much longer!

Veterans Day, Observed

On Memorial Day this year I wrote about my incredibly moving experience at the Vietnam War Memorial. I like to think that I appreciate America's Veterans and support the troops every day of my life, but this year I have made a conscious decision to spend my day off on Memorial Day and Veterans Day paying my respects and using my day off to observe the holiday as it was intended. Which, as it turns out, has nothing to do with barbeque.

On Tuesday I mentioned to a coworker that my plan was to visit Arlington National Cemetery on Veterans Day. I didn't necessarily want to go for the wreath-laying ceremony, but I wanted to pay my respects at the final resting place of so many of America's heroes. She was interested in coming with me so we coordinated and met at the Cemetery in the afternoon.

Neither of us have a personal relationship with anyone who has been buried at Arlington. I have only been there once before and for my previous trip I had the honor of going with someone in the Navy who was visiting members of his team who were killed in Iraq. This time I had no one in particular to visit, and the aforementioned Sailor is currently back on another deployment in Iraq. So many friends and loved ones were in my thoughts and in my heart on this day already, I fully expected my trip to Arlington to be an emotional experience. I had no idea that the most moving moment on this day would come from my coworker.

She was especially interested to visit the Cemetery for the first time. She has only been a U.S. Citizen for about a year, but came to the U.S. from Romania twenty years ago. She is an amazing person and she appreciates her U.S. citizenship more than anyone I have ever known. I suppose living under Communist rule will have that effect on a person.

We arrived to Arlington in the afternoon and decided to venture out on our own rather than join a tour. I was concerned that she would want to leave quickly because of the rain, but the weather may as well have been 75 degrees and sunny with how enthusiastic she was to walk the hallowed grounds of the Cemetery. We walked to the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier and she took a photograph and wiped the tears from her face. After that we set off walking, nowhere in particular, just walking past the numerous grave stones and paying our respects as best we could. The rain came down, the temperature became colder, and through it all, we walked. As the winds came and tried to claim our umbrellas, we held on tight and walked along quietly. Acutely aware that our battle with the elements was no sacrifice at all compared to the experiences of men and women in uniform, their families, and the men and women whose names surrounded us. Walking silently with no one aware of our presence but the fallen heroes long gone, we swelled with respect and awe for the losses our country has suffered.

As we walked along and commented on names, graves and inscriptions, Cristina carried a small American flag and looked for somewhere to direct her symbol of respect and appreciation. As I continued to walk and wrestle the wind for control of my umbrella, she fell behind a bit, and when I turned to look back, she was paused before a grave stone along the path. She knelt down on the wet earth, put her hand on the stone so tenderly, as if she were caressing a member of her own family. She drove the flag into the earth and said, "Thank you, Major Young - for fighting for me." She stood up, dusted herself off, and leaned over and kissed the top of the gravestone before turning to continue down the path.

It was the most beautiful gesture I have ever seen. One woman with no personal ties, sharing an intimate moment at the final resting place of someone who will forever remain anonymous. To everyone who has served or is currently serving in the U.S. Armed Forces - never doubt the effect your sacrifices have made. It has become a catchphrase in popular culture for everyone to "support the troops" but today I saw with my own eyes how deeply this support is felt by someone who still has emotional scars from living with communism and fascism in her own life. Someone who truly appreciates her freedom and her citizenship in ways that I will never understand, but am so privileged that she has shared part of her story, and her Veterans Day, with me.

That's what friends are for

I live in a large apartment building in NW Washington, DC. I am near the Metro and there are shops and restaurants nearby, I have always felt like everything I need is within walking distance. (Everything I want, on the other hand - that may require public transportation or a Zipcar. Depending on how badly I want it.) I have lived there for about a year and a half, but it's just lately that I've gotten to know my neighbors and grown to appreciate and love where I live.

I don't know the exact specifications, but the building is very large and it is mostly one-room studio apartments. There are some other floorplans, but the majority seem to be studio. The rent is expensive for folks like me at an entry-level job, but it's truly the best value for a studio in DC. There is an exercise room downstairs with a sauna and a hot tub. There is a sun deck on the roof, and a party room on the second floor for residents to get together. The party room has a flat screen TV, a comfy couch and chairs, a coffee maker, a lending library, and if tenants leave their drivers license at the front desk, we can have access to the Nintendo Wii. In addition to all of these amenities, the building hosts free coffee and bagels before work once or twice a month, and a couple of times a year they host a wine and cheese party for us in the party room. The building is rather old, and the hallways feel like a hotel or a dormitory, but it is worth every penny I can barely afford to pay to live there.

Even though I'd lived there over a year, it has not been until this summer that I have started to meet other tenants. The building management hosted a party in June, and one of the tenants tried to draw up interest in getting a team together for pub trivia. The pub trivia didn't exactly pan out, but once everyone had exchanged contact information, emails started to abound. There was always an invitation to a happy hour, a kickball league, dinner, game night, going away parties... there was always something going on. It has taken me a while to catch on, but this atmosphere of expensive one-room apartments seems to draw a similar demographic of people. We are all out of school and carving our career path and we're old enough to appreciate living by ourselves. At the same time, we are young enough that we're not at the point where we're ready to buy a house or get married or start a family. It makes sense that we should all come together in this little community of expensive studio apartments.

Yesterday was the birthday of one of the girls in the building. One of the guys in the building had bought her a birthday card and somehow that had a snowball effect and by the evening, we had a card, candy, balloons, cupcakes from Red Velvet, and we invited her and everyone else to get together in the party room to watch The Simpsons Halloween special. This led to the realization that we did not have enough cupcakes.

Brian, Beau and I ended up in Brian's apartment waiting for a call back from the birthday girl. We decided that a box of Ghiradelli brownie mix would save us from running out of birthday cupcakes. After much running around and gathering ingredients, we had mixed up the batter and started to pour it into the 13 x 8 inch pan. The batter barely covered the bottom of the pan. It was apparent that we had a problem and that problem was about 5 inches worth of cake pan.

We laughed at ourselves, then someone else had a box of brownie mix and we mixed that up (to a very different consistency) and poured it into the pan on top of the rest. The absurdity of the different brownie mixes, and people running out to different apartments to grab supplies and back to the brownie batter was absurd. I had a genuine moment of affection and said, "My life has improved so much since I met you guys." Beau looked at me in disbelief, spatula in hand, and said, "Really? This is your moment? You're having that much fun right now?" I reconsidered. Of all the incredibly fun things we've done together, why did I take that opportunity to tell them how much I appreciate them? I tried to explain,

"Yes. Because this moment is identical to what I would be doing had I never met you guys. Except I'd be in my kitchen by myself, feeling like a dumbass for picking the wrong pan and wondering how I was going to eat two dozen brownies all by myself."

When in DC, do as the tourists

I took a late lunch today and walked up to the Farmers Market in Penn Quarter. While the walk itself is only about 10 blocks, it's not a straight shot. The walk across the mall can be like navigating a racecar driving video game. You're going really fast, but you have to zig and zag across the sidewalk just to stay out of someone's photograph. Within one block I saw four different photos being taken right in front of me and at least three different languages being spoken. The best was the woman getting a photo of her friend with the capitol building in the background. When she had the camera on her, the woman smiled and said "whiskey!" She had a huge grin on her face.

That's when I stopped and decided to take my own picture. The photo itself isn't that impressive, but it is all part of why I am so in love with this city. I can walk a few blocks from my office on any given day and this is what I see. Just in one lunch hour I took in the capitol building, the Washington Monument and WWII Memorial in the distance, the Navy Memorial, Archives and the Smithsonian buildings. I moved here in May of last year, and after 16 months I still find this city as breathtaking as ever. I am truly, madly, deeply in love with this city. Sure, it's not perfect and it's expensive as hell. But there is nowhere else I would rather be right now. Thanks to the whiskey tourists for reminding me not to take it for granted.

The Reluctant Barber

The way I feel about going to get a haircut is the way most people feel about going to the dentist. I know I have to do it on a regular basis but there's always some level of pain involved. My hair is naturally thick and curly and no one knows how to deal with it, including me. So once or twice a year - when it's too long and I can't take it anymore - I go in and someone new tells me what would look great on me. Then they proceed to tell me unconvincingly why this is going to be the perfect haircut. I have gone to expensive salons and spent a small fortune and I've gone to cosmetology schools and spent $7.00. Doesn't matter where I go, I always end up with shorter hair that is no more manageable. I've had some really really bad haircuts (perhaps some of you remember them as well.) But I've never walked out of a salon and said, "Awesome! I love my hair!" It's generally not bad, not great, but much better than the mop I walked in with.

The time has come once again when I couldn't deal with the length anymore so I walked into Supercuts to get it taken care of tonight. It's my natural inclination to turn around and run away from a haircut, but it wasn't until after I was settled in the chair that I realized... there were some logical indicators that would lead a person to turn around. The first of which being the fact that everyone in there was bald. Two guys - one with male pattern baldness, the other had a shaved head - were sitting waiting, my barber had a shaved head, and another barber was giving a kid a mohawk. A guy in sunglasses came out from the back room and asked me, "You ready?" and invited me into the chair. I was curious why the guys were waiting while I got right in, and apparently that kept me too preoccupied to question why the guy about to cut my hair was wearing sunglasses. I'm not talking about fashionable lenses or the tinted kind that change in different lighting. I'm talking dark - block out all the light - Ray Charles, Stevie Wonder sunglasses. I decided he wasn't blind b/c he saw me standing there. But it was a little suspicious that even in his license photo he was wearing sunglasses. There were a few times he looked real close at my hair before he cut it; maybe squinted a little bit. But what the hell, even a blind person couldn't cut my hair worse than some in the past. The months when everyone called me Lyle Lovett were very difficult. But it always grows back.

When I was sitting in the chair, he looked over it closely - and I mean that literally. He said, "Now you just want this trimmed, right?" I said, no I'm tired of it. Do whatever you want with it. He said, "I don't want to cut it. I'll trim it but I don't want to cut it. You have great hair." I wasn't that cool with a trim and he wasn't that cool with cutting it short so we proceeded to negotiate for about five minutes. "No, if you leave it long you can do this... and this... and do you know how much money people pay for hair like this? And you want to cut it off?" He wanted to cut a half inch, I wanted several inches so we compromised and now it's a little longer than shoulder length. Is this normal? I kinda' don't think it is but I have never had normal hair and nothing feels normal about a haircut anyway. I hate haircuts.

So, Blair (that's what his business card says - no first or last name, just Blair) told me exactly how he would give me the perfect haircut. I have to give the guy credit, he took a lot of time to work with my hair. He seemed to really enjoy his job. It was great to watch him work because he conducted himself like he was creating a work of art. He was very careful and was adamant that I had to keep my hair long. He showed me many different things I could do with it. "Don't ever pull it back like this. If you're gonna pull it back, do it up like this instead. See the difference?" The whole time he was cutting it he was making comments like, "You are going to like this. You're going to be dangerous! People will be coming back here and saying, 'Blair, I want you to make me look like her' and you're gonna have to tell them, 'no you can't look as good as me.'" This went on for quite some time with various colorful expressions of how awesome my hair was going to be and when I come back for another haircut I'll either have twenty boyfriends or an engagement ring. Maybe both. Who knows what sort of trouble this haircut will get me into in the imagination of Blair the Barber and his magic scissors.

In the end, I think it was a pretty decent haircut but I never really know until the next day. He put a lot of time and effort and I am comforted by the fact that he seemed to be enjoying himself. I don't think he was blind, but I can't help but wonder about the glasses. I believe he may have had some sort of visual impairment. He definitely was hilarious. All in all, I paid about $30 to have a decent haircut and listen to a man compliment me and tell me about how hot I'm going to look. You just can't pay enough for that kind of service.

I'm Drenched. Life is Good!

I took the Metro home tonight and when I got to the top of the escalator, I ran into a crowd of people standing around. Some of them were reading a newspaper or looking around nervously, but most of them were just... standing. They were waiting for the rain to stop.

It was raining pretty heavily, but it's warm outside and 8:00 at night. It's not like these were people on their way to a business meeting or anything. Cleveland Park is not known for its Tuesday nightlife, it is very probable that wherever these people were headed they would be in for the night. I'm making assumptions, but no kidding - there were like 15 people just standing there waiting for the rain to stop so they can go on with their lives. Fifteen umbrellaless soles gathered under the shelter of the Metro entrance - reading a newspaper, checking their watch, all contemplating a big decision. It's raining. What to do?

I can understand not wanting to get rained upon. When my naturally curly hair gets wet I look like Lamont from Sanford & Son. I'm sure this unusually large crowd of people had their own reasons for not wanting to go out in the rain. But to just stand there and wait until it lets up? There was no lightning, no thunder, no wind or severe weather indications. Just heavy drops of rain. I'm really really perplexed at the number of people standing there putting their lives on hold because of rain.

While the huddled masses waited around, I looked up to the sky and challenged the rain to do its worst. I splashed through puddles and let the cool rain drench my entire body and it felt good to be reminded me why I refuse to grow up. At what point in life do people give up the fascination and excitement over the little things? When you're a kid, the only reason you can't go play in the rain is because your parents won't let you. I'm not suggesting adults should go back to splashing mud puddles and having snowball fights every day. It certainly wasn't on my schedule tonight to splash through the rain and walk drenched into my cold, air-conditioned apartment but when life hands you lemons, play in the rain!

I'm baffled by the number of people held at bay by the rain. Grown-ups are boring. The world would be a better place if everyone took the time to play in the rain again. Rake the leaves up into a pile in the yard and them jump in! Take off your shoes and run through the grass until your toenails turn green! Remember what it's like to be a kid! So what if you have to wash your own clothes and wipe your own nose now? Just because you have a mortgage and a career doesn't mean you can't appreciate the little things in life.

Memorial Day, Observed

When you see the Wall for the first time, you are awe-struck by the visual simplicity of a memorial for something so complex as the Vietnam War. It is simply a wall etched with names, chronologically, of those who were killed or missing and unaccounted for in the Vietnam War. The size of the wall and the overwhelming number of names has a profound effect. Most people my age have learned about the Vietnam War through history classes or from watching action-packed Hollywood films. Some of us may have heard accounts from those who were there, the experiences they went through; or even from those who did not serve, but have stories about others who did. Anyone with an elementary education in American history knows of the Vietnam War, the protests, the political unrest, and the shameful way our country neglected the returning service members.

Like most historical events, one can never fully comprehend without having lived through the event and seeing it with their own eyes. Could you effectively describe the events of September 11, 2001? I was in Iowa on 9/11, far from New York City, the Pentagon, or Pennsylvania; yet I will never forget the day. I sat in front of my television all day with friends and loved ones, trying to grasp the reality of what we were watching. It was a surreal experience from halfway across the country. When I hear stories of those who lived through it, I feel the emotional connection between the events I watched fearfully on television, and the experience of those who saw it firsthand. Everyone remembers where they were on 9/11. But, in ten years, will you be able to explain to an 18 –year old, exactly what happened in this country? If you were in NYC or if you were in Iowa, or if you were in Oregon, I don’t believe there is a way to make someone who has no emotional perspective truly understand what happened on that day.

Unfortunately, that is the same disconnect I have with the Vietnam War. The facts I have learned over the course of my life, the people I have talked to about their experience, be it in the service or just growing up and knowing that their neighbor left and never came home – as much empathy and respect as I feel, I know that I will never truly understand what it meant to have lived through that time. I think that is the case for most people my age. We know the facts, but will never understand. That is why the Wall is such a moving experience.

Of all the facts that have influenced my understanding of the Vietnam War, nothing I ever learned in a textbook, saw in a movie or even heard from a Vet that had the same effect as seeing those 58,261 names etched into nearly 250 feet of the Wall. It is the first time I understood the impact and devastation of what happened in Vietnam.

250 feet of wall… 70 inscribed panels, each with up to 137 lines of names. Each of those names represents a member of the U.S. military lost in battle. 58,261 service members never to be seen again by their parents, husbands, wives, children, neighbors, friends, relatives… who now have a name on a wall to remember their loved one, and to remind the rest of us of our country’s history.

I’m sure everyone who visits the wall has their own unique experience and understanding of the memorial. For me, it has not been any one individual, but the magnitude of seeing all of those names as the list goes on and on. Having no personal connection to any one person memorialized on the Wall, it is the overall structure and the collection of so many names that makes it so breathtaking. Many people come to the Wall to visit a loved one and see their name, perhaps leaving behind a card or flower to show that the person is still in their heart. For me, it is the list of names as a whole that I have always found so moving.

Until yesterday

On Memorial Day that list of names comes to life. On any given day you may find a card or a flower lain in front of the panels. On Memorial Day, I saw more than a daunting list of names with some cards and flowers. I saw letters written by friends and family, mementos left by those who served alongside the men and women fated to earn their name on the wall. A pack of Marlboro Reds, a picture of a the American flag drawn in crayon by a youngster, the words “Miss you, Daddy!” on a photo of a man holding a baby – and the realization that the infant in the photo is probably now older than me but still feeling the loss of her father.

On the last Monday in May, we take a day out of our regular work schedules in remembrance of the men and woman who paid the ultimate price for our freedom. I have always had the utmost respect for those who wear the Uniform of the U.S. Armed Forces. The time I spent in D.C. over Memorial Day weekend has deepened my respect, not only for those who have served, but the families they leave behind.

Round Two: Washington Ovechkins vs. Pittsburgh Crosbys

Tonight I am all worked up about the Stanley Cup playoffs. Round one was the Washington Ovechkins vs. the New York Averys, now it’s the Crosbys vs. the Ovechkins in round two. Or that is what a casual observer may think.

If you are a casual observer or have no idea what I’m talking about, here’s the superstar super scoop.

Sean Avery is a punk who plays for the New York Rangers. He started the season as a punk for the Dallas Stars but after making inappropriate comments that embarrassed the management and the entire NHL, he was suspended from the league, released by the Stars and banished to the minor league. A desperate Rangers team picked him up right about the same time they fired their coach and replaced him with John Tortorella. During the first round of the playoffs with the Rangers, the only thing the commentators could talk about was the loose cannon Avery.

Sidney Crosby is a girly hockey sensation who plays for the Pittsburgh Penguins. He was the number one overall draft pick for them in 2005 and he’s their team captain and resident douchebag. He has been an NHL darling before he was even eligible for the draft, all eyes have been on him. The problem with him is that he knows all eyes are on him & uses a dramatic flair to try and draw penalties from his opponents. He such a superstar that his linemates often serve as his entourage when trouble starts. I have seen him fight and it is not pretty. There are some areas of the anatomy where you just don’t hit another man, no matter the circumstances. I have seen Sidney Crosby break the guy code on this one. I could go on but you get the idea. I am not a fan.

Alexander Ovechkin. What to say about the Great 8? He plays for my team and I’m afraid this is blasphemy around these parts, but I can’t help myself. I don’t like Ovechkin. He is also a superstar NHL darling but I will give him the credit that unlike Crosby, Ovie fights his own battles. Actually, I would say he is the opposite of Crosby in some ways. When someone messes with Crosby on the ice, the rest of his team comes to his rescue. On the Washington Capitals, when the other team messes with any of his teammates, Ovechkin will come to their rescue. I give him a lot of credit for that because when he is on the ice, all eyes are on him. Unlike Crosby, he appears to use his powers for good rather than evil (or whining, as the case may be.) Unfortunately, Ovechkin is like Crosby in that he is a product that the NHL is selling. People don’t come to watch the Washington Capitals play, they come to see Alex Ovechkin score an acrobatic goal and slam himself up against the glass. He is always at the top of the league stats. He scored 56 goals this season, more than any other player. This certainly makes him a standout, but he also had more shots on goal than anyone else in the league. With 528 shots on goal, that puts his shooting percentage at 10.6%, that makes him #155 in the NHL rankings. On his own team, he is behind Semin, Fleischmann, Green, Backstrom and Laich. 528 shots on goal is a hell of a lot of scoring attempts. The second highest number of shots on goal in the NHL was Eric Staal with 372. Ovechkin made 156 more attempts than the second highest player, and Staal played 3 more games than Ovechkin did. Ovie will take any opportunity he sees to score and don’t get me wrong, that is a good thing. You can’t score if you don’t shoot the puck. At the same time, it explains why he is such a phenomenon. Perhaps some of it is raw talent, but he works very hard, he’s an intense player and when you take that many shots on goal, you always end up with the amazing shots that miraculously cross the line. The lucky bounces, the strange angles and pushing the puck while he’s sliding on his face – they all end up on the highlight reels so that everyone can gush about what an amazing player he is. Having watched him all season, I am not as fascinated as everyone else seems to be. I have seen how hard he works for the empty net goals to pad his stats. I’ve seen him cherry pick when Backstrom and Semin set him up with perfect assists. I have also seen him steal a hat trick from Brooks Laich by taking an empty net goal in a 3-1 game against Toronto. Two of those three goals were Laich’s. That annoyed me greatly. Brooks Laich is one of my favorite players. He always gives 100% and is always a solid player. He and Nick Backstrom are two of the most consistently good players I have seen. We have a lot of talent on our team and some of the players who bring the most to the team are ignored next to the blinding glow of Ovechkin’s popularity. It’s not just those two either, we have an immense amount of talent on our team but if you are only listening to the commentators, game recaps and news stories you would think that Ovechkin was the only one who showed up to the game. Same goes for the Penguins and Crosby. How many casual hockey fans outside of Pittsburgh know who Evgeni Malkin is?

While I am not a fan of Ovechkin, I can not deny what he brings to my team. He is a great player and a popular player. The problem is not what he brings to my team, but what he takes away from it. 90% of the Capitals merchandise you see on the market has the number 8 or the name Ovechkin on it. The Verizon Center is packed with #8 jerseys and crowds shouting “MVP! MVP!” every time Ovechkin scores a goal. He is undeniably talented and no matter what team he was on, he would be an MVP nominee as he is this season – the same award he won last season. I am glad that the Capitals are selling out every game, and I am glad we have made it through the first round of the playoffs. I hope we go much further. But if we do, it will not be because Alexander Ovechkin singlehandedly played forward, defense and did some goaltending during the line changes. It will be because the Washington Capitals are a talented team with a brilliant coach who benched our dead-weight goalie before it was too late.

Give credit where credit is due, and as long as my team is in the playoffs, I will be cheering for the Capitals, not the Ovechkins. (And most certainly not the Mike Greens. Don’t even get me started on that!!!) It takes a solid team effort to win the Stanley Cup and if there is one standout player to take your team to the championship, it is never a forward, it is the goaltender. The Caps have an impressive new goalie but he doubled his NHL games played during the playoffs. We don’t yet know what he can do. On solid team efforts, I go with Boston Bruins and Detroit Red Wings for the Stanley Cup finals. When it comes down to goaltenders, I say Boston takes home the cup this year.

I hate to admit when I’m wrong, but I would love to see the Caps make me do it!

[Photo by Jason Cohn - Reuters]

Hockey Heaven!!

I'm sure most of y'all have heard a little something about the NCAA basketball tournament that just ended. March Madness has been and gone once again. Well, while everyone was filling out their brackets and watching college hoops, another sport was getting ready for their tournament. The college hockey championship, or the Frozen Four as it is appropriately called, will be in Washington, DC this year. It's the chance of a lifetime that I should be a short Metro ride away from the college hockey championship, but the tickets have been sold out since I moved here last year and they are selling on the secondary market for an arm and a leg. I have been wanting to go to this tournament so badly, and preparing myself for another disappointment of watching it on TV like I did the Winter Classic.

Nearly two weeks ago I watched the 16 best college hockey teams in the country on TV for the beginning of the tournament to narrow it down to four teams. I had no favorite team, no dog in the fight but I was on cloud 9 watching these college athletes play their hearts out. There was last-minute goals, double overtime, a puck actually went through the net and wasn't called a goal until they had continued to play another five minutes... the quarter finals were incredible and I have been trying so hard to find tickets in my price range for months. I was hoping that more tickets would be available after 12 teams were eliminated, but it didn't work out that way. I was bidding $100 on eBay for pairs of tickets that ended up selling for $300 and $400. Way out of my price range. I wanted to go badly enough to spend money I don't have and I started to doubt my better judgement when I found 4 tickets on eBay for $250 Buy-it-now priced. I jumped at the chance knowing I could sell 2 of the 4 and recoup my money, but this all happened yesterday at 5:00. The tournament starts tomorrow at 5:00 I had exactly 48 hours to get the tickets from Colorado, then turn around and sell them before the Frozen Four began. I felt a little sick to my stomach letting go of that $250, but the tickets have been so expensive, it was a pretty safe bet that I could sell the tickets and get some money back. Still, I had no control over the shipping and didn't have a buyer yet, so I was freaking out a little bit. Just a little.

Well, I'm still freaking out but this time it's because I can't believe I'm going to the tournament! I listed the tickets on craigslist, two tickets for $250 and immediately found a buyer. So, to clarify - here is the math. I bought four tickets for $250, kept two of the tickets and got my $250 back for the other two. I still have two tickets and the same amount of money I had when I started. Free tickets!! That is exactly what I could afford to pay!!

Technically, they weren't free. I paid $5 for shipping and gave someone $3 for Metro fare to deliver the tickets to the buyer. In the end I guess I paid $8 to go to this tournament. So, about the price of lunch. The tickets are for the two semifinal games and the final championship. There are four teams left. Tomorrow at 5:00 I will watch Boston University vs. Vermont and at 8:30 Miami (ohio) vs. Bemidji State. The winners from those two games will play for the championship game on Saturday.

I am taking a friend from Boston to the finals, so he's hoping Boston University wins the championship. The person who bought the two tickets next to me did his undergrad at Bemidji State - the underdog of all underdogs in this tournament. Personally, I liked Vermont's team and would love to see a Vermont vs. Bemidji State for the championship, but now I'm just babbling. Really, I just wanted to watch great hockey and I have some really great seats for what is going to be an awesome tournament. Did I mention I paid $8 total for the tickets??

I'm still waiting to find out what's the catch. Could I really be this lucky? I can't wait for this tournament!!!!