Speed Living

So I did it... I tried speed dating. Yes, it's true. And it took me a whole three weeks to write about it, not because of embarrassment, but more because I had to let it all sink in.

For those of you not familiar with the process... you walk in, sign your name, get a name sticker, apply your name to the sticker, apply a random number to the sticker and then apply the sticker to your "lapel area." That was great - right off the bat you're a number. Individuality denied. But that is the trick - to express your individuality through a sticker and several very quick four-minute conversations.

Best part of the evening. I go to the bathroom to, I'll admit it, give my hair one final once over before making about 20 first impressions. I'm in the stall and I hear about four girls, giggle sequences in full throttle, taking about the aforementioned name stickers. They decided that they'd get much more attention if they applied the sticker to their "breast area." No doubt that their method was a good one. Except they didn't take into account body lotion and perfume - two anti-sticker substances. Boy did this cause a problem. How would they ever get dates with no sticker? With no number? Bet they figured it out. Ha.

My friend and I (this was a bring-a-friend speed dating party) proceeded to the bar, did a shot and continued to ease the tension with a cool refreshing Miller Lite out of a very classy plastic cup. Nice job DC Young Professionals.

I won't bore you with every detail, but I'm sure you can picture it. Four minutes per "date." Move on. Four minutes. Move on. Four minutes. This is fun! Four minutes. Man, this guy is wasted. Four minutes. Man, this guy is a dork. Four minutes. Didn't I just talk to you? Four minutes. Another lawyer. Huh. Four minutes. Getting bored. Four minutes. Losing my voice. Four minutes. Haha. Your number is 69. Dude, that's awesome. Four minutes. Is that your real name? Four minutes. You came all the way from Maryland to do this? Loser. Four minutes. Is this over yet? Four minutes. Need another beer. Four minutes. I can't believe my friend left me with a guy named Sparky. Four minutes. You're old enough to be my father. Four minutes. Ding ding ding!

Yes, there was a bell. Like cattle, branded by numbers and herded with a bell. Was this really happening? Yes, yes it was. And I did this purely of my own volition. But I have no regrets. I met some "interesting" people, had some amuzing conversations. Like the conversation about late night highway construction. That was a real page turner, let me tell you.

Ah, the single life... full of ups and downs. And when you live in a face paced city, speed dating seems to fit right in. Speed dating stems from speed living, right? We are very caught up in the little details of life and we forget about the big important stuff, like relationships. So we try to squeeze them in. Four minutes, that's all we get? Sometimes it's better to take it easy... chill out... lathargic dating. That's my next adventure.

Who's the scapegoat? Find out quick!

The ravages of Hurricane Katrina are almost too horrible to comprehend. Entire towns underwater, thousands probably dead, the waste, the disease, the violence – and all seemingly handed to a population who couldn’t have had it any worse. They, along with many other poor communities in this country, were forgotten, swallowed up in Red states and other political jargon. The conservatives take care of their voters, right? Not so, we are learning. And why is that? I’d argue that it’s not a race issue at all. It’s all about the money and a disproportioned U.S. priority system.

Louisiana had asked for years for Congressional aid to fix the levy problem. No answer. In 2004, Congress did actually allocate a Gulf Coast Aid program. And where did most of that money go? You guessed it… little brother Jeb. Such a good kid. And so many affluent constituents! And how much money have we spent on an imaginary enemy in the desert? (I'm not naming names of course.) How many people have died for that in comparison to money and effort spent on very real domestic issues?

So the issue, at least in my opinion, is not about race directly. However, it is a fact that the majority of poor people in New Orleans are African-American. You can’t escape that. But I’d argue that even if they were white, the situation would be the same. It came down to poverty, lack of priorities and plain bad luck.

By “bad luck” I mean of all things, nature is the least discriminating. Hurricane Katrina would’ve destroyed the Gulf Coast no matter what – no matter who lived there or how much money was involved. Nature doesn’t see race. Nature doesn’t see partisan debate. So why do we?

The fact of the matter remains that there are people who need our help. For some reason, we are making excuses that cloud that idea. It’s absurd. I’ve heard the following over the past few weeks:

“They had their chance to get out, and they didn’t take it.”
“Now they’re playing the race card! Can you believe it?”
“They are savages. Shooting down the planes that are trying to help them.”
“Looting.”
“Stealing.”
“Ungrateful!”

The whole “blame the victim” game makes no sense. Hurricane warnings are a part of everyday life down there. No one knew that this would be the time the levy would break. I would’ve stayed too. And savages? Yes, the conditions are appalling at times, but these are human beings. We are all capable of the same good and of the same bad… hard to swallow, but it’s true.

Bottom line, they need our help. Let’s stop trying to find the scapegoat. Let’s stop debating just to hear ourselves talk. Let’s open our eyes to the bigger picture of the reality here… an unlucky natural disaster compounded with a slow government response and a very unfortunate population of human beings. By giving into the race argument, for example, we lower ourselves from what really matters. We’re wasting our energy on words that get us nowhere. Help now… do what you can, NOW. And let’s try to prevent this from happening again by getting our priorities as a country in order.

Like Apples and Oranges

I swear to god this is true. Public transportation is a funny thing, full of funny people and funny situations. This has to top them all, at least for me, and at least in a very long time.

It was Friday morning, early, about 7:30 a.m. I boarded the 42 headed south. I paid my $1.25, walked to the back of the bus, just past the back exit door, and took a seat next to a very nice Hispanic gentleman. Slowly, in my morning caffeine-not-quite-kicking-in-yet daze, I realized that the bus driver kept looking in her huge rearview mirror in my general direction. And she looked pissed!

Ask anyone who regularly rides the 42 from about 7:00 to 8:00 a.m. This bus driver is memorable. She exudes miserableness. Is that a word? Well, that's what she exudes.

In any case, I began to get really paranoid that she was looking - wait, scratch that - scowling at me. I mean, this woman could stare you down into submission, I tell no lie.

Finally, at about Connecticut and R streets, she swings herself completely around and says, "You know you're not eatin' oranges on this bus! You KNOW you're not eatin' no oranges on MY bus!"

Everyone looked around like, "Are you eating oranges? I'm not eating oranges, are you?" I'll admit, I smelled something citrus, but I couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from.

Then, at the Dupont Circle stop, she actually got up from her bus driver seat and proceeded in my direction, scowl in full force. I had no trace of an orange, or any kind of fruit for that matter, so I felt safe. But, deep down, I feared I was being set up. Did someone plant an orange on me? I was so scared, I'm not kidding.

A sigh of relief! She stopped a few rows in front of me, pointer finger extended, and started beating into this poor guy. The conversation went like this:

Driver Lady: I told you not to be eatin' no oranges on this bus! What do you think you're doin', eatin' oranges on this bus?
Scared Russian Dude (please try to picture a thick Russian accent): Excuse me?
Driver Lady: You best not be eatin' no oranges on this bus! Do you HEAR me? How many times do I have to say it?
Scared Russian Dude: Is it a crime to EAT???
Driver Lady: On this bus it is!
Russian Dude (now sarcastically): So, now it is a crime to eat?
Driver Lady: ON THIS BUS IT IS!
Russian Dude (now mumbling to himself as Driver Lady sits down and resumes the trip): Blah blah blah Russian slang blah blah blah.
Random Passenger #1: You mean you can't let the man eat? Look at him! He's hungry! Why y'all be trippin' over an orange? Shit... it's 6 in the morning and y'all trippin' over a hungry brother who just wants to eat. Sheeeeet y'all.
Russian Dude: You see??? You see what they are doing to you! They are taking away your freedoms one by one. In Soviet Union, people killed for eating oranges! Crime to eat on a bus... (Russian mumbling again)
Random Passenger #2: It's a rule, just follow the rule. The woman said you can't eat oranges on the bus, so don't eat oranges on the bus!
Random Passenger #1: Y'all, it's 6 in the morning! And y'all is trippin' over an orange. Shit.
Random Passenger #2: A rule is a rule. It's not an infringement on your rights. Just eat the orange 10 minutes later when you get off the bus.
Random Passenger #1: The man is hungry now! What the fuck, y'all.

Awkward silence. Then I got off the bus, at my usual stop, although I was so incredibly tempted to stay on. Only in DC, I swear, could you get into a very public political debate with complete strangers about personal freedoms - incited by an orange.

Blog Break - Tribute

"Missing You"
- Tina Turner

Everytime I think of you, I always catch my breath
And I'm still standing here, and you're miles away
and I'm wondering why you left

And there's a storm that's raging
through my frozen heart tonight

I hear your name in certain circles
And it always makes me smile
I spend my time thinking about you
and it's almost driving me wild

And there's a heart that's breaking
down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all - missing you
since you've been gone
away
missing you
I ain't missing you - missing you
No matter what I might say

There's a message in the wire
and I'm sending the signal tonight
You don't know how desperate I've become
and it looks like I'm losing this fight

In your world I have no meaning
though I'm trying hard to understand

and it's my heart that's breaking
down this long distance line tonight

I ain't missing you at all - missing you
since you've been gone
away
missing you
I ain't missing you - missing you
No matter what I might say

there's a message that I'm sending out
via telegraph to your soul
and if I can't breach this distance
stop this heartbreak overload

Middle Path and New Car

It’s been way too long, way too long. It’s been, what, two weeks, since my last confession? Man, sometimes my Catholic upbringing definitely scares me.

So anyway, these past few weeks have been nothing short of completely nuts. I’ve been getting to work around 7:30 everyday, still staying past 6:30, trying to workout as much as ever, also trying to relax, go out with friends, make weekend trips, keep in touch with family, stay grounded, stay healthy, sleep enough, eat enough, not eat too much, not drink too much, stay cool, manage more responsibility at work, move into an office, establish a candy bowl so people visit me, be there for other people when they need me, throw a party, clean my apartment, do laundry, did I mention stay grounded?

That’s the hardest part.

And, sometimes, it takes a day like this past Sunday to really make you stop… and think. It was one of the hottest days of the summer so far. Typical DC humidity, heat index over 100. Plus it was a Sunday, so on top of the standard hangover that descends upon Adams Morgan’s streets on such a morning, it was hot as hell. No one was out. And if you were, you weren’t talking. And you moved reeeeeeeaaaal slow too.

It takes a day like that to physically slow you down. How crazy is that? Do we really live in a society that does not allow us to think? To slow down? Are our lives that hectic that we can't enjoy the present without the constant worry about the future? I would argue that the answers are all "yes." Because if we did, in fact, slow down, we'd fall behind. Other people would gain advantage and we'd end up in the dust. Crazy materialism. Crazy capitalism.

It was at that moment that I found myself in a used bookstore, searching through the Eastern philosophy section. I decided I’d become a Buddhist. Yeah, you heard me right. That was the answer! No? Not the answer?

Life is suffering, says Buddhism. But we can all still be happy by avoiding our cravings and our desire for material possessions. We must live a simple life. We must try to modify our “wanting” so that all we want is to continue to exist. Then we hit the enlightenment, and all is well. Then we have more time for others and we learn to live one day at a time, enjoying what is the “present.”

Interesting… but I think the most interesting concept in Buddhism is the “middle path.” Bear with me on this one. Buddhists talk a lot about wisdom and compassion. One extreme is when you’re an emotional fool (too much compassion) and the other extreme is when you’re super smart, but kind of a dick (no emotion at all). The correct way is somewhere in the middle… hence “the middle path.”

And that’s my new goal. Call it Buddhism if you want, but whatever it is, I hope to attain it someday. It involves things like open-mindedness, flexibility, wisdom and patience. I’d like to add “new car” to that. Ha. Maybe I'm not really cut out to be a true Buddhist. To be continued…

Freakville

Did you ever have one of those days when you wake up and automatically think to yourself, “Today is a good day. Today, I am in a good mood.”

Well, I had one of those mornings this morning. It was great! I felt invigorated. I felt like Tom Cruise – just full of unexplained irrational energy.

So I made coffee, played with my new cell phone (which, by the way, ROCKS), read the news online, took a shower, ironed my shirt (I know! Amazing!) and decided to treat myself by not making a peanut butter & jelly sandwich. No, today was a good day. Today, I would get lunch at Cosi.

High on life and the prospect of hot baked bread, I left my basement apartment, remembering to turn off the AC (who needs to pay for 11 hours of unappreciated electricity?). I locked the door behind me, and proceeded to the bus stop.

Little did I know what would await me on that short walk to the 42.

I exited my little patio area, made a quick left, a quick right, another quick left…. and BOOM! Smack right into what can only be described as Freakville. I kid you not. What stood before me was a sight indeed. And it took me right down from that “this is a good day” crap.

I had run into two people, a mom and her son. The son was about 5 years old and was riding a very low-to-the-ground tricycle. The mom was walking very slowly behind him. Sounds normal enough, right? Oh no. No no no… these people looked EXACTLY like the mom and son from The Shining. No joke.

Now, if you had a kid that looked like that, why in the world would you give him the same haircut? Seriously! I was so scared, I really was. AND he was riding a tricycle! Was this some kind of sick joke? Why give him a tricycle??? Are you purposely trying to fuck with people’s heads?

I’m extremely serious about this. It was as if they froze that child in time and 25 years later decided to freak everyone out. Well I guess the kid doesn’t have to worry about a Halloween costume this year. However, he will get no candy from me, that’s for sure. Where do you get off ruining my good day? Redrum!

By the way, The Shining and most other Stanley Kubrick movies, are excellent films. I’d even categorize Eyes Wide Shut as an excellent film. Although, I am currently boycotting all Tom Cruise movies for obvious reasons. I know movies, Tom. I know them! You don’t understand movies like I understand them, Tom! I have the research!

Wabi Sabi

Having only lived in my apartment for about six months now, I am still trying to find my own sense of style --- some sense of continuity amid the random college leftovers, arbitrary items from Pier One and presents from Mom. (Shout out to Mom… thanks for the Asian influence! Next entry explores my newfound interest in Buddhism.)

So in my search, I came across this new design trend. It's "the new Feng Shui" they say. And it's supposed to be simpler. Not as structured. And it’s called Wabi Sabi.

This Japanese philosophy celebrates the beauty of imperfection, and I think that's a fantastic idea. See that pile of laundry... it's really quite beautiful. That dirty plate in the sink. Gorgeous.

Ha, seriously, it is interesting, so I'm passing it on to all you interior designers. It sounds so nice to me... the concept of making your home a "peaceful" one, not necessarily trendy. But, I guess the philosophy is actually becoming trendy itself now. Damn media! Well, anyway, it's worth looking into. Plus it's really fun to say... WABI SABI!!!

For example:

Guest: "So where did you get that cool chair, I love it. It just screams humility."
You: "Wabi sabi! Ask no questions! Only WABI SABI!"

At which point you start loosing friends. Not only is your place a mess and full of dilapidated furniture which you call “antiques,” but now you’ve become obsessed.

http://home.ivillage.com/decorating/0,,7wwpxmf5,00.html?nlcid=c%7C466,21325

The Great Coffee Debate - No, the Other One

Thought I’d take a break from thoughts on media and religion, and start talking about what really matters in life - coffee. Each day presents new challenges, new faces, new experiences (which is great). But there are also a few consistencies that help establish stability (also good). One of these regular daily occurrences, and the one I would argue to be most important, is none other than my friend, an invigorating cup ‘o joe.

Coffee literally fuels my day, every day. I make a four-cup pot in the morning and typically stop for some extra goop on my way to work. Like most people in this city, coffee is a part of my life. I enjoy the aroma. I enjoy the people I meet in the coffee shops. I enjoy the caffeine. I enjoy the short reprieve on my walk to work and the realization that ok, now I am ready for this day. And I enjoy the power of personal choice associated with a cup of coffee. Do I want milk today? Sugar? Espresso? Maybe I do and maybe I don’t. But it’s definitely up to me. I can start my day off with a rock-hard decision. Feels good.

Until…

I decided to get some treats for my team at work this week. So I stopped in the Krispy Kreme around 7:45 a.m. for 48 donut holes and, of course, a cup of coffee for myself.

Me: “48 donut holes, please.”
Lady: “What kind?”
Me: “Um, half chocolate, half regular.”

[Donut counting takes place]

Lady: “Ok, here you go.”
Me: “Great, thanks! And can I get a tall of your bold coffee. That’s it.”
Lady: “A what?”
Me: “Just a tall coffee, please. The bold flavor. Thanks.”
Lady: “Excuse me, but we don’t have ‘tall’ coffee.”
Me: “Um, ok.”
Lady [now with attitude]: “You’re not in Starbucks.”
Me: “Ok, sorry.”
Lady: “I used to work there though. Those bitches.”
Me: “Huh.”
Lady: “So you want a small?”
Me [checking the menu above]: “Yeah, small. That’s good. Thanks.”

As I walked to work that day, carrying my donut holes and coffee, I realized several things.

One, the bitchiness of that lady’s ex-coworkers is apparently contagious.

Two, maybe I was wrong about the whole “personal choice” and “rock-hard decision” thing. Maybe I’m completely powerLESS when it comes to coffee. Could that be true? Have I been brainwashed by the big bad Starbucks? Not every coffee shop has tall, grande and venti? WHAT??!!? Maybe we’re all puppets when it comes to coffee choices. We think we rule our own destiny when we say things like, “I’ll have a grande skim hazelnut mocha, sugar free syrup, no whip, extra shot… and can you leave the top off?” But what we fail to realize is that we’ve been trained to say that. It’s totally a false sense of control. Come on people. You’re spending over three bucks on a small amount of liquid when you could easily just get a plain coffee, add your own milk and there you go. “But it tastes so good,” right? “They make it just the way I like it.” Oh no, they tell you how you like it.

My confusion in Krispy Kreme was a real eye-opener for me. Of course not everyone serves tall, grande and venti! Man, the effects of this homogenized society. Not good.

Three, I started to contemplate the meaning of tall, grande and venti. And I realized that the brainwashing is even worse than I originally imagined. Why? Because it’s not even a logical order. Let me explain.

The real sizes of coffee cups, at Starbucks as well as other coffee shops, are 12 oz, 16 oz and 20 oz. That’s pretty standard for “to go” coffee. “Venti” actually does mean “20” in Italian (shout out to my heritage!). So, in logical order, the 16 oz should be called “sedici” and the 12 oz “dodici.” But no! What the hell? They try to act all cool with the Italian word, but don’t really follow through. Posers.

Furthermore, if the 12 oz is “tall,” then the next should be “taller” and then, you guessed it, “tallest.” But this baffles me too, because shouldn’t “tall” be one of the bigger sizes to begin with? And then we should have a “short” and maybe a “holy crap he’s huge” size.

You get the point. Not only are we conditioned to think that tall, grande and venti are normal, but the conditioning is not based in any sort of logic. I’d like to thank you, bitchy lady in Krispy Kreme, for bringing all this to my attention.

By the way, the donut holes in Krispy Kreme are like heaven in a little ball of sugar and fat. Mmmmm….

Mary Magdalene

Just wanted to point out that Anne Bancroft passed away recently. It's a sad day for us all really. With such groundbreaking performances as Mrs. Robinson and Anne Sullivan, she made a strong mark on American cinematography. However, the role that changed my life had to be her depiction of Mary Magdalene in Jesus of Nazareth.

As a Catholic school girl (don't get any ideas, I really was a Catholic school girl, and honestly very innocent, until reality set in, but that's another story) ... anyway, as a Catholic school girl, I was forced to watch Jesus of Nazareth at least 100 times in grade school and high school. Every chance we got, we watched that frickin' movie. I'm sorry, did someone say brainwashing cult? Don't get me wrong, it's a great movie - far superior to the overly scary Mel Gibson version, by the way - but perhaps slight overkill in my early upbringing.

The character in the movie that always struck me was Mary Magdalene, played by Anne Bancroft. (Note: I had no idea who Anne Bancroft was at the time, and it’s really not relevant, but provided a good segue for this post.)

Mary Magdalene had a bad rap, you know, being a prostitute and all that. But she was cool. She knew how to hang with the apostles. And she was one of the few major female characters in the Bible. Too bad she was a whore. Looking back, I wonder who my role model was supposed to be… the immaculate Mary, mother of God, born without original sin? ‘Cause that’s totally attainable. Ha. Or maybe Mary Magdalene, the sinful, yet forgiven, prostitute. Hmmmm…

So I’ve always leant towards the prostitute, not because I consider myself to be one, but maybe because she wasn’t perfect, and I knew I was far from the Catholic perception of “perfect.” Plus you know she was hooking up with the big JC. Come on, people. He was half man and half god, right? And I think we can all figure out which half was which, if ya know what I’m sayin’.

And also, the best song in Jesus Christ, Superstar is “I Don’t Know How to Love Him,” sung by none other than my favorite, the original Eminem. You go Mary Magdalene. That song rocks out.

So I was convinced that Mary Magdalene was to be my role model. A sinner, yes, but she was transformed. She saw love and compassion in the eyes of Christ and turned her life around. She, amazingly, didn’t need to sell herself anymore because she joined a cult that provided food and shelter I guess. (Sorry, I’m going to hell, I know.) She was a devote follower. Despite her wretched sins, she was forgiven. Ok, I could deal with that. Until…

I read recently that Mary Magdalene was not a prostitute. WHAT?!?!? I know. Apparently, there are a lot of scholars out there who say that nothing in the New Testament says she was a whore. This is what we know:

Luke writes that Jesus casts seven demons from her, after which she joins his disciples and provides for them. Then, she witnesses the crucifixion from the foot of the cross, after the male disciples fled. She witnessed Christ’s burial. And she was the first witness to the resurrection and was sent by Jesus to tell his other disciples of his return, therefore called the “Apostle of the Apostles.”

Those are facts. Well, as much as the Bible is able to provide facts anyway. So how did she get this awful reputation? Answer: at the end of the 6th century, Pope Gregory the Great gave a sermon in which he characterized Mary Magdalene as a prostitute. Possibly incited by rumor already out there, but still. Way to knock us down, Pope Man.

Many are using the facts about Mary Magdalene as reasons to ordain women in the Catholic Church. If she was the first person that Jesus appeared to after the resurrection, then she, and women everywhere, must be worthy. I’m not going to get into that argument, but I have to say, the story of Mary Magdalene is now more inspiring. She was not a “fallen woman” or a “harlot” as Pope Gregory the Great would have us think. She was a strong leader. And little Catholic girls everywhere should know that... I mean, if we're going to brainwash them, might as well try to use the truth.

http://www.danbrown.com/media/morenews/time.html

Deep Throat

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.