It's hard out here for a blogger

I've used blogger for a couple of years and I sometimes still feel like a senior citizen with their first computer. ("How do you turn this on? Where is the 'any' key?") I often feel like the equivalent of my dear grandmother when I watched her try to figure out which end of a cellphone she should talk into and which one is for listening. I posted something earlier tonight and I learned that if you save a draft repeatedly before posting, the post date will go back to the date that you started to write it. (Although this is quite easy to change.) I didn't bother to change it because I was quite surprised to learn that I started working on this on january 4th.

If you are wondering why a blog that took three weeks did not end up better constructed or more entertaining, this recent post may give some indication. So, in case you're interested (and I'm not sure that you are) here is what happened...

I started to write and kept running out of time so I pieced it together carefully and added links whenever I had the time. I finally decided to forget about polishing and editing and just post the damn thing on January 16th. It was late at night, I was tired, when I noticed that the spacing between paragraphs was screwy, I intended to copy, paste and edit, I did something that can be better described as cut, cut and cut. The next thing I knew the blog entry was gone and when I tried to retrieve it, all I had left was the title. So, I saved the title, created a new blog whining about how much it sucked that I deleted everything, and went to bed - several hours later than I should have.

Tonight I decided to write and post the blog I had originally intended, and it was nowhere near as well developed as the one I deleted at 4:00 in the morning. I had no idea it had been that long, but my intention was to post it on January 4th and make a snarky comment about how infrequently I have been posting lately. I would love to post every 7 to 10 days, and there's certainly enough randomness in my daily life to be able to come up with subject matter. It's just so hard to find the time to post, work six days a week, spend hours on the phone throwing myself on the mercy of my student loan lenders, worry about paying bills, stay sexy, pay taxes and still find time to eat and sleep. Usually when I blog I have to cut into the "sleep" category. As much as I would love to do more, my goal is to post at least once a month to keep up appearances. The last few months there haven't been many comments and I wonder if the folks who usually read the blog have given up b/c I haven't been writing. Or perhaps they think I've given up on them. It's hard to keep that once a month minimum when you're not even sure if anyone is reading anymore. I do have to give due credit to two people who have commented recently. Thanks to M. Brady for the support on my last comment. Rich K. has also sent me email responses to blog posts. Thanks to both of you for the feedback.

It's approaching that 4:00 a.m. hour again so I should publish this before I go and do something stupid with it. I just wanted to add this entry to let everyone know there is a new entry as of today, but it is dated January 4th. If you've visited the site since January 4th, you didn't miss it. While I technically posted it today, I'm leaving the 1/4 post date because it was the original intended date; and also because - holy cow where did this month go already?!?

In the future I'm going to try and keep up my once a month standard to let everyone know I'm still alive and kicking. And who knows, if I get more feedback that other people are reading, I may throw up a random episode now and then just to keep things interesting.

The saddest thing

is when you don't have time to write the blog you want to write, so you start it four days ago and then finally spend a couple hours finishing it and adding links. Then, after having saved the draft so many times, you finally post it but you forget that blogger always triple spaces the paragraphs when you save drafts. So then you decide to copy & paste to edit and create a new entry but it did not copy. Nor did it paste. So now days and hours of work is gone and another half hour of trying to recover it has also passed. And you have to admit that the sum of your experiences that goes into a blog may not amount to much more than a trivial episode, and maybe even no one would've read it. But taking the time to write it all down and then losing it really really sucks.

December 28, 2009

On December 28, 2009 - one day before Ariana Huffington urged everyone to move their money to a local bank - I was (for the first time ever) appreciating the convenience of my own evil, bailed-out bank.

Prior to this enlightening experience on the 28th, I probably would have looked past the awful George Bailey references and agreed with the advice from Huffington & Co. When I moved to DC in 2008, I reluctantly opened an account with one of the big banks. I would have preferred to keep my money in a local bank (as I did for several years in Iowa) but the big bank was two blocks from my apartment and had branches and ATMs back in Illinois in Iowa. I hate paying those $2.00+ transaction fees, and this way I would have a better chance of avoiding them when I went home to visit family. I support local businesses, but only on a very passive and convenient level. There's a local grocery store near my apartment and I would much rather give them my money than one of the national chains, but it's not practical to spend a couple dollars more for a gallon of milk that's going to expire in two days. I can't afford to put my money where my principles are. But the Huffington Post article is right. If enough people with enough money made a point of changing their habits and moving their money to a local level, it would make a difference. Businesses go bankrupt because of people like me who are just trying to save $2.00 at a time.

It may have been easy a month ago to jump on board with the HuffPo article, but the day it was published, I was still deep in thought and beginning to accept the benefits of our global, technological society. Here's what happened.

At 3:30 p.m. on December 28th, my dad was driving me to Chicago to catch a flight back to DC. We left a little earlier than normal, just in case the underwear bomber succeeded in beefing up airport security to level: overkill. It was about two hours before takeoff, we were twenty minutes from the airport and I received a call from a friend who was in Italy for the holidays. She had gone to visit friends and was flying by herself. I was not expecting to hear from her before we were back in DC. I answered the call and chaos and drama poured out of the receiver. She was frantic. She had left Italy and was stuck in Munich. She couldn't get in touch with her family or her friends in Italy. She was being told she had to leave the airport and stay at a hostel, but she had no credit card other than her debit card connected to her checking account. She was not expecting to pay for a hostel two days before payday so she didn't have enough, but had nowhere to go and no money for the next 13 hours before her flight left. She was stuck in a country where she didn't understand the language and she didn't even seem to know why she was calling me, she was just making her way through her contacts list because she didn't know what else to do.

As the panic spewed from my cell phone, I looked at the clock and then looked over my dad's GPS. I knew that she and I had the same bank, so I picked up the GPS and typed in the name of the bank. There was a branch 7 miles out of the way, but we could still make it there and make the flight. I interrupted her desperation.

Frantic Friend: "I don't even know what to do and there's like one person in this whole airport I can talk to about it and they're telling me I have to leave and I don't know what to do and I hate this place and I'm never going to travel again and this is the worst day of my life and I..."
Me: "Listen. We're a few miles from a bank. Can you send me a text message with your checking account number and my dad and I will go there and put some cash in for you?"
FF: "Huh? [sudden cheerful, hopeful tone] Uhhh, I think I can send a text from here!! I can try!!!"
Me: "Okay, send me the text. We're going to head toward the bank and try to get you some cash right away. Stand by and I'll call you back when we get there."

We hung up, she sent the text with the account number and I ran into a Bank of America branch in a town that I would otherwise never have known existed. It ended up being the easiest bank transaction I have ever made. I filled out a deposit slip and explained the situation to the teller. I asked her when she would be able to access the money with her debit card. The teller said that since it was cash, she would be able to use her card right away. I handed over some cash I had gotten for Christmas that I really wasn't happy carrying around anyway. The teller verified the name on the account, made the deposit, handed me the receipt, and we were out of there within five minutes. I called my friend back.

Me: "Okay, it's done. You should have enough to pay for the hostel and get you home."
FF: "Ohmigodthankyousomuch. Bye!"

So, Dad and I get back on track to Midway airport and I arrive with plenty of time to spare. The rest of the afternoon in the car and in the airport, I could not stop thinking about how simple it all was and how difficult and painful it would have been even just a few years ago. Before cell phones, before GPS, before greedy national banks... who knows how long she would have been stranded or where she would've turned for help. What would have been a huge ordeal a few years ago, can be fixed in this day in about twenty minutes if you have a cell phone and a resourceful friend. It really is quite impressive.

When I finally made it back to DC, I logged onto my friend's facebook to see if she had made any updates about her trip or to see if I could find any information about how things worked out after I had talked to her. She had only posted one update in the previous three days. On December 28th, half an hour after she called me to tell me about how horrible her life was and how her holidays had been ruined, she posted this facebook status update:

I love Munich! The airport is awesome, have a overnight flight, finding a hostel to stay in. :)

There was no mention of the dilemma that had consumed her just minutes before. In fact, there has been no mention of it between us, nor do I think she told anyone what happened to her on that fearful day in Munich. As far as the rest of the world knows, there was nothing but smiley-face emoticons the entire trip.

What a difference $180.00 makes!

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."

Okay okay, we're all racist! Can we talk about the issues now?!?!

Our top story tonight, President Barack Obama is still black. Well, half black, technically. But there have been no melanin-based changes since he was elected in November.

A series of events, beginning with Rep. Wilson's comment, followed by a weekend of protests and capped off with a former president making yet another quotable declaration - have now brought the issue of race to the forefront of discussion about the president. It was even a poll question in the Express this week.

The Express poll is a good example of the problem with this debate - "Do you think race is a factor in the opposition to President Obama?" Your choices are YES or NO. As Carter himself said when he brought this up in his NBC interview, "That racism inclination still exists" in the country. Of course. Without question it still exists, and if you were to put that as your poll question with a choice of YES or NO, you should get a 100% unanimous vote that we all agree - racism still exists. But to bring this up as "is race a factor?" will get you nothing but a never-ending dialogue with personal attacks and racial insensitivity. Of course racism inclination still exists. No one is denying that. But to suggest that race is the key factor in the opposition to Obama is irresponsible, unfair and dangerous.

Not surprisingly, the published results of the poll were 50/50. Split down the middle between yes and no on "Is race a factor." A 50/50 vote should show that this a very divided issue. The problem is, it's not a divided issue. I think most of us agree that race will inevitably factor into many peoples decisions, but this poll suggest that half of the people think race is the number one overarching factor. Which is irresponsible, because it does nothing but dismiss the opinions of his opposition.

I can not say this any better than Joe Scarborough did this morning. This country elected Barack Obama. His approval ratings until recently were in the 70 percentile range. The amount of hope and positive energy on the National Mall in January was palpable. But now, the protesters descend on the capitol over the weekend and accusations of racism abound. This issue of race is an important one and it is worthy of lengthy and substantial debate. But let's refrain from dismissing peoples' opinions as being race-based and try to work on solutions to some real problems. This argument about whether race is a factor is a distraction. During the primaries, Bill Clinton was accused of playing the race card. Joe Biden was accused of making racist comments right after he announced he was running for President. However much of a factor you think race may be to the opposition, this is not an argument that will ever get resolved. This country is in crisis. I for one would like to hear solutions on how to fix the economy, the healthcare crisis, the national deficit; rather than accusations and finger-pointing.

It is unfortunate, but there will always be an undertone of racism in all matters related to Barack Obama. Just like there will always be an undertone of sexism in all matters related to Sarah Palin or Hillary Clinton. Instead of reducing these people to categories and characteristics, can we just let them try to get something done? Our elected officials have enough distractions as it is. Let's stop reducing complex arguments about race to yes-or-no questions; and while we're at it, we're not accomplishing much by demanding apologies for rude outbursts either. It's time to stop focusing on the bad behavior and get to work on putting this country back together.

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.