A marriage between reality TV and politics

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Seventy is the new thirty

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And before that, like this.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

White Girl Anthem

I have recently developed a solid theory, and like all good theories – it involves 80s rock band Def Leppard. Specifically, their song Pour Some Sugar on Me. Last night I took a trip to Jiffy Lube Live to do some research and I can say, without question, Pour Some Sugar on Me is the unofficial anthem of the white female.

I’m sure many women immediately take umbrage to this claim and there are plenty of counter-arguments for more empowering songs. Aretha Franklin’s Respect, for example. Depending on your generation, you may choose Destiny Child’s Independent Women, or Helen Reddy’s I am woman. These are all fine arguments, but they do not apply here. I am not talking about an anthem we choose to represent ourselves. I am speaking of that irresistible urge that awakens in us before the music even begins.

Step inside, walk this way. You and me babe, hey hey!

It is like a hypnotic invitation that renders us powerless to sit still. The first few guitar riffs are like a dog whistle, capturing the attention of every white girl within earshot.

Love is like a bomb baby c'mon get it on
Livin' like a lover with a radar phone
Lookin' like a tramp like a video vamp
Demolition woman can I be your man
Razzle 'n' dazzle 'n' flash a little light
Television lover baby go all night
Sometime anytime sugar me sweet
Little miss innocent sugar me yeah yeah

By now, we’re moving our hips in circles like there’s a tiny hula hoop around our midriff. Again, we can’t help it. It’s spontaneous. Then comes the chorus:

C'mon - take a bottle, shake it up

Break the bubble, break it up

Now we’ve got the shoulders moving, arms are getting warmed up. Then, things start to get crazy.

Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon fire me up
Pour some sugar on me
Oh! I can't get enough

From the first Pour, the arms are straight up in the air and the pelvic thrusting rivals Elvis Presley. Lady lumps are swiveling and swaying every which way by now. Hips are out of control and showing off their inherent femininity.

I'm hot, sticky, sweet
From my head to my feet yeah

Okay, now you can’t get to this part without touching yourself in some way. Depending on how flexible (or just plain promiscuous) you are, you may have bent your knees and wiggled your way down to the floor so that your head is now where your waist used to be. Hands are automatically running up and down, hair is being tossed about… don’t even try to fight it. Shake out your hair like you're in a rock video.

Listen! Red light yellow light green light go!
Crazy little woman in a one man show
Mirror queen mannequin rhythm of love
Sweet dreams saccharine loosen up

You gotta please a little, squeeze a little
Tease a little more
Easy operator come a knockin' on my door
Little miss innocent sugar me yeah
Give a little more

At this point there seems to be a variation in the routine, depending on the individual. Some girls get even more into it; some take a breather and go back to more subtle wiggling. If you’re over thirty like me, you may be checking to make sure you didn’t pull any muscles before you continue on to the big finish. And here it comes…


Take a bottle, shake it up
Break the bubble, break it up

Pour some sugar on me
Ooh, in the name of love
Pour some sugar on me
C'mon fire me up
Pour some sugar on me
Oh! I can't get enough


I'm hot, sticky, sweet
From my head to my feet yeah

By now, you feel like the sexiest woman in the world and just to reinforce that, the fine lads of Def Leppard validate us completely.

You got peaches I got the cream
Sweet to taste saccharine
'Cos I'm hot, say what, sticky sweet
From my head, my head, to my feet

There is something about this song that makes the most inhibited of women feel sexy. It is maybe a little empowering to know that even little miss innocent can bring a man to his knees. I will grant you that my theory may be influenced by the fact that I was a pubescent teenager when I was first introduced to the magical music and perhaps it has skewed my entire world view to associate the song with raging hormones. But I don’t think so. And I’ll tell you why.

I witnessed this phenomenon myself at the Def Leppard concert last night. As soon as the music began, women in the audience were on their feet. The cameras panned through the crowd and every woman was doing same thing. They were shimmying their way through the very same dance that I was rocking out in the cheap seats. I don’t think we can help ourselves. I don’t find this song to be very danceable, but it’s an impulse to throw my hips around like I’m about to hurt someone with them. Sure it’s a catchy tune, but no matter how vast your dance repertoire, there’s only so much you can do with this song. Yet, we can’t resist but to react, and further the stereotype that white girls can not dance. The only thing worse for that stereotype is AC/DC’s You Shook Me All Night Long – which is completely awkward to dance to and irresistible to many of my ilk.

So thank you, Def Leppard, for imposing this irresistible anthem. Thank you for once again coming to the DC area and reminding me of the careless days of my youth. Thank you to lead singer Joe Elliott for spending last night entertaining the masses, despite it having been only three weeks since your dear father passed away. Thank you Rick Allen for drumming with your feet and not letting a small thing like an amputation slow down your career as a rock star. And thank you Phil Collen for still having a smoking hot body at the age of 54. There are many things about the 1980s that we have to question in retrospect – Why did we dress like that? What’s with the bangs, and why did they have to be so tall? What the hell were we thinking?

There are many popular trends from the 80s that we will never fully understand their popularity. Def Leppard is not one of those things. They still put on a hell of a show in 2011, and they are responsible for an irresistible white girl anthem. Or at least I think so. It is just a theory.

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.