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.

Cedar Rapids

Has it really been four months since I last contributed? That's amazing. As one loyal reader (my dad) has noticed I completely blew my original goal to contribute at least once a month. So, in the interest of not disappointing my parents any more than I already have, I give you: Whatever is on my mind right now.

Cedar Rapids.

I have been thinking about Cedar Rapids all day today. Not the city in Iowa, which I lived 20 miles away from for 15+ years, but the film starring Ed Helms. I attended an advance screening last night (the film will be released in theatres on Friday, February 11th.) I was very excited to see this movie because of the Iowa connection, and the previews looked promising. At the same time, I was a little uneasy about it because I did not want to watch 90 minutes of Midwesterners being portrayed as rubes. It's a stereotype that I'm not a fan of. Although it irritates me more when people think Iowa is famous for potatoes. It's Idaho potatoes, people. Don't be a rube.

In case you ponderin', I did enjoy the film - in large part because of an outstanding performance by Isiah Whitlock, Jr. as an insurance agent with a passion for antiquing and boundless enthusiasm for the HBO program The Wire. His performance stole the show, and that's not easy to do next to John C. Reilly. If you generally enjoy Helms and Reilly as actors, you will enjoy this film. It helps if you have seen an episode or two of The Wire, as well. If you are largely unimpressed with the work of the two aforementioned actors, you could probably skip this one.

While the main character (Tim Lippe) was a complete rube who had never left his small town in Ohio, I was not offended by the characterizations of Midwesterners. The character is so sheltered that he is blown away by the hotel pool in Cedar Rapids and suddenly feels like he's in Barbados. His enthusiasm was cut short when he ran into the "large afro-american man" standing in the doorway to his room. Maybe I have a different perspective since I am one who felt stifled after living 30+ years in the Midwest, but my life has been filled with Tim Lippe moments. The town where I grew up (village, actually) had a population of 750 people, was 97.5% Caucasian and covers a total area of .5 square miles, according to the U.S. Census Bureau. You should have seen the excitement when I was a kid and we found out a Casey's General Store was coming to town. You would have thought the Mall of America was coming. We excitedly monitored the construction progress every day and waited with bated breath for the luxury of purchasing a greasy slice of pizza and a dozen donuts. It was a big deal. Then, when I turned 18 and moved out, I moved to a city in Iowa with a population of 30,000. That was huge compared to where I grew up! There were stores and chain restaurants and stoplights!! After two years there I moved on to Iowa city for school, which doubled my residential population at 60,000. Iowa City had so much more to offer and their stoplights had two turning lanes! I was very nervous about having to turn left with another car in the lane next to me.

Since 2008, I have lived in Washington, D.C. and I still have Tim Lippe moments. Sometimes when I'm on Metro for my daily commute to work, I think about what it would be like to meet my former self and tell her she would grow up to leave the Midwest and live in a major metropolitan area. The thought of navigating public transportation on a daily basis would have blown my young mind. It would have been unfathomable. Caseys General Store was a very exciting event for me. If only I knew then that just a few decades later I'd get off the subway and pass the U.S. Senate building every day on my walk to work. It would have been mindblowing.

To be honest, life in Washington is still pretty mindblowing for me. It still takes my breath away to see so many areas with such rich history. It makes me giddy to know that I can walk out of my apartment, hop on the Red Line and be at an NHL game within 20 minutes. I used to drive an hour in each direction with my season tickets to see the Quad City Mallards.

It's hard to take offense to the character in the film when I can identify with him so much. I remember the first time I was on a plane by myself. I remember the first time I met an "afro-american" and I am not proud to say that my interaction went no more smoothly than the dialogue of the characters in the film. Everyone has to step outside of their comfort zone every now and then and having grown up in such a sheltered environment, I find a lot of things "super awesome" that most people take for granted every day. Maybe it's just the rube in me, but I thought that the film was NTS - Not Too Shabby.

Here are a few interesting facts to note about the film:
Of the six actors receiving top billing (according to imdb), only Helms is not from the Midwest. He did attend Oberlin college in Ohio (that doesn't count) and while Stephen Root was born in Florida, he has lived in Sioux City, IA; Muncie, IN; and Kansas City, MO. (That totally counts.)

The official website for the film has links to the city website for Cedar Rapids, the Wikipedia page for CR, and city-data information about sightseeing in CR. I don't know if this is done to give proper credit to Cedar Rapids, or to encourage people to see for themselves how unremarkable it is. I will give Fox Searchlight the benefit of the doubt and say it's merely to give a point of reference for where the film is based.

Speaking of where the film is based, none of it was filmed in Cedar Rapids. I haven't read up on the details as to why, but the film is said to have been filmed in Ann Arbor, MI. Honestly, there is very little connection to Cedar Rapids other than the name. There are a few point of view shots where you can see CR, but other than that, it could have taken place anywhere.

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.

Worst case scenario: Barnes, Noble & Crosby

As a participant in the Barnes & Noble 401(k) plan, I have the right to vote in the annual meeting of stockholders on September 28, 2010. These are the notices I receive every year and promptly ignore. This year, they have launched an aggressive campaign that has made the shareholder meeting impossible to ignore. I have received two phone calls, 3 mailings, and a UPS-delivered letter telling me how important it is that I vote this year because someone named Ronald Burkle is trying to take control of the company. I have no idea what this is all about, so I read each of their pleas for my vote, then I decide to look up Mr. Burkle. I need go no further than Mr. Burkle's Wikipedia page where I find some shocking and horrific information that has suddenly made my decision in this matter very, very simple:

He is part owner of the Pittsburgh Penguins National Hockey League team...

Len Riggio, you have my full support in stopping Mr. Burkle. I only wish you had mentioned his unsavory NHL connections earlier so I could start my own campaign to let all NHL fans (outside of Pittsburgh city limits) know that someone involved with the Pittsburgh Penguins is trying to take over my reputable bookstore. It is my duty to try to put a stop to this and if Steve Riggio agrees to throw down the gloves with Ron Burkle, I might be inclined to go vote in person.

I fully expect Mr. Burkle to lose, whine about it and claim he's entitled, and then demand a recount from the referee.

Reflection and Perspective

I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't know how to read. If you ask my mother, she will probably tell you that as soon as the umbilical cord was severed, I read the hospital chart to learn my last name. Mothers are prone to exaggeration.

Exaggerations and proud parents aside, one of my earliest memories is before I began Kindergarten. The details of my memory are somewhat unreliable, but I believe it was an assessment before I started school. A young woman sat across from me and said, "When I say a word, I want you to repeat after me, okay?" I consented, eager to please. She began, "Okay, repeat after me. DOG." I quickly responded, "D-O-G." For whatever reason, I spelled the word instead of repeating it. As I remember it, it was an automatic reaction to her ridiculously easy exercise, but memory being unreliable I will not count out that this younger version of me was simply trying to show off. It is entirely possible that my aim was to impress the lady.

Whatever my intentions, the thing I remember next is her getting up immediately after I spelled the word and going over to talk to someone else. I was certain that I was in trouble. I hadn't followed directions. I was paralyzed in fear. I had screwed up and not followed directions and now they weren't going to let me into school. Oh how excited I was to finally begin school and right then I had just ruined it with the word dog. (or was it cat? Perhaps I spelled out a dog-cat-house trifecta and sent this woman off in a flurry.) As it turns out, I was not in trouble at all. I had impressed her with my superior spelling skills and the resulting discussion amongst grown ups was to discuss my accelerated reading skills. I was allowed to go to school after all. Kindergarten was a half day, beginning at noon. I spent the following years unable to understand why I couldn't begin every day at noon and revolting against anything that began before 11 a.m. This is something I still struggle with today.

There is a reason I have been reflecting upon my literary beginnings. I have to give credit (or blame?) to my good friend Paul on this one. Paul is an extremely talented writer and he has always encouraged me to continue to write and complimented my abilities to put words together - whether it be on a blog, in a million letters written back and forth, or (ideally) somewhere that people would actually pay money to read what I have written. The latter being unlikely without a great deal of work, I appreciate Paul's nudges to continue to keep my writing skills sharp in whatever way possible. Recently after reading my blog and learning of my financial shortcomings, he sent me words of encouragement. He reminded me to keep writing, and assured me that one day I would look back and see this period of my life as "character building."

I say this with full confidence that anyone who knows me will agree: If I had any more character, I would need to be described as "A character." I have gotten myself into more "character building" situations than I care to admit. But I can't deny that the difficult times have taught me a lot about myself, and those lessons are invaluable. So, considering Paul's advice and encouragement, I began to reflect upon my favorite books throughout my life.

When I consider the most influential books throughout my life, one theme is constantly repeated. Without question, the most inspiring book of my youth was A Tree Grows in Brooklyn by Betty Smith. As I read the story of Francie Nolan escaping the realities of her difficult young life through her imagination and love of reading, I escaped my own challenges and awkwardness. I was very young when I read Little Women by Louisa May Alcott and immediately felt a connection to Jo March as she read to her little sisters and felt a passion for writing. In my adult life, I was moved by Frank McCourt's memoir, Angela's Ashes. Again, I felt an emotional connection to the story about someone who survived unimaginable circumstances and poverty by relying on imagination and his natural storytelling ability. All of these books have such a special place in my heart, and each of them tells the story of someone who survives poverty by relying upon the strength of family, and the power of imagination.

As desperate as my financial situation feels, my life is privileged when compared to my literary heroes. To compare my challenges to theirs (and their respective authors) even in my current situation would be to celebrate my own prosperity. I may whine about my well-being, but I am far from tearing down the ceilings in my apartment to keep the fire going for heat. I face challenges, but I can not describe myself as suffering. For this, I gain strength from the perseverance shown by the characters in these books. And like them, I gain strength from the people around me.

I would never have had the courage to move to Washington, D.C. on my own and pursue a career if I did not have the strength of my friends and family back home. Sometimes the word "friends" is not strong enough, and the people in my life can only be described as family. Now that I am here, it is the new friendships I have made that encourages me to stay and find fulfillment in D.C. Even if it means working seven days a week, trying to climb a ladder that often doesn't appear to have steps, and to do whatever it takes to keep afloat in difficult financial times. It has been difficult, nearly impossible, to live within my means in my current situation. It is difficult when you don't have enough money to make ends meet. But I would not trade the people in my life for all the money in the world. My financial situation is coming together and will eventually be in order. I can live with these months of sacrifices and I can even stay positive if I keep reminding myself to rely on those two important things. The support of the people around me, and the power of the imagination. As long as I have my friends and family, I will never be alone. As long as I have my imagination, I will never be bored. Sometimes I just need to remind myself never to take either of those things for granted. And sometimes I need Paul to remind me. Thanks, Paul. And thanks to all of the people I am incredibly blessed to have in my life: My friends, my family, and my books.

Go ahead. Laugh!

I paid $11.57 for all of this food. In Washington, DC. Coupons are not just for soccer moms anymore, the student-loan-indebted are jumping on the bandwagon! (We prefer the term frugalista.)