A Bit Better

I saw Santa Clause this morning.

A man about six feet tall, wearing big boots and a red puffy jacket, sporting a white beard and a wind-burned nose, walked past me as I rounded the corner of 19th and K streets. He was jolly looking. A slight belly and a delicate grin. Almost a smirk. And we made eye contact, at which point his smirk blossomed into one of the most comforting smiles I’ve ever seen.

Now I’ve never been a huge proponent of the merit of “signs,” but this one struck me. In a city where few barely look up and where everyone seems to be in a constant rush, a sincere look can touch you, and can make you stop.

I actually turned around and watched him walk in the opposite direction for a few seconds. And then he magically disappeared into thin air. Just kidding! I don’t think he was really Santa Clause, but I swear to you he resembled him. Maybe he was an elf, like the ones in the mall.

In any case, that moment reminded me that a simple gesture can change someone’s day, perhaps even unknowingly.

Emerson...

To laugh often and much,
to win respect of intelligent people
and the affection of children,
to earn the appreciation of honest critics
and endure the betrayal of false friends,
to appreciate beauty,
to find the best in others,
to leave the world a bit better
whether by a healthy child,
a garden patch, or a
redeemed social condition,
to know even one life
has breathed easier
because you have lived.
This is to have succeeded.

Around the corner

I've decided to stop being a complete slacker... more posts to come. ASAP... by COB. :)

Disposal Cheese

I just realized that my disposal has a name. You know, the disposal, as in the thing that chops up all the food you don't want and flushes it down your drain. Yeah, mine is called, "The Insinkerator."

You too can become great

Person 1: I went to the concert last week.
Person 2: Oh, you too?
Person 1: You were there?
Person 2: No, why do you ask?
Person 1: You asked if I was also there, as if you were there too.
Person 2: No I didn't.
Person 1: Yes, you did.
Person 2: Let's just forget it. I'm tired.
Person 1: Me too.
Person 2: So, you too?
Person 1: Yeah man, why do you keep asking me if I'm also something that you are? It's really annoying.
Person 2: Dude, you need to chill.
Person 1: Oh yeah???
Person 2: Yeah!
Person 1: Well so do you!
Person 2: YOU TOO!

And so U2 continues to create controversy and incite deep thought... both on a bigger political level and on a very personal one, such as above.

Ha. Point? U2 makes you think. At least they made me think. My seat was in the upper level of the MCI center, to the left of the band. I could still see Bono well enough to be completely moved and affected by the music, which seemed to fill the stadium and rise above the distractions that dared to present themselves... such as the drunk people a few rows in front of me. How can you have a loud drunken conversation during "One?" Seriously... it's like using your cell phone in church. Disgraceful. Oh well. It's all good. After all, we've got to carry eachother... carry eachother.

Ok, so I got a little "into" the concert. But it was U2! Not only can they still completely rock out, but they have a higher purpose. Some say it was a little over the top, a little cheesy. Well, I say bring on the cheese! What's wrong with a little cheese when you're promoting human rights and an end to poverty? What's wrong with a little cheese when you're fighting for what should be such a simple concept? I say the cheesier the better. Well, except if you're lactose intolerant. Then you might want to take it easy on the cheese. But you get the idea. Take some lactaid and rock on.

Together, we can end malaria in Africa. We can support a greater effort for human rights for ALL people. We can end poverty and disease everywhere! We can all COEXIST.Yahweh, Mohammed and Jesus... together again. Sunday Bloody Sunday? No more! Peace to all my brothers and sisters of the earth! Screw Hillary. Bono and Edge 2008!

Haha, ok, so through my sarcasm I hope you can see that I also admit to a slight "over the top" element. However, you have to give them credit. You have to admit that their campaign is a noble one. And, without idealists and social activists, where would we be? Sometimes we need to be inspired, to be challenged. End malaria in Africa? Is he for real? Well, according to Bono, it's possible. So maybe you look into it. Maybe you go to onecampaign.org and look around. Maybe you sign the petition for human rights. Maybe you give some money. Maybe one kid, just one kid, in Africa doesn't die because he had the right medicine. Maybe you feel good about that. Maybe you let an old man take your seat on the Metro. Maybe you go to work on Monday with a better understanding that the world is not just in your five mile radius. Maybe this knowledge calms you down with a deeper sense of what is real. Maybe that calm actually causes you to smile.

Idealist? Maybe. Did Bono have lunch with W the day of the concert. Yep. Did I eat too much bad stadium food that night? Oh yeah. So nothing's perfect. But a little inspiration never hurt anybody. I'm a cheeseball, what can I say.

The Romantic Cynic

What have I become? I've been talking to a guy recently who believes in the fundamentals of romance. Cuddling up to watch a movie. Sitting by a crackling fire on a snowy night. Listening to waves crash on the beach. Etc.

I'll be honest, these things make me want to hurl. Can you say cheeseball?

But then I got to thinking... this guy is sincere, as far as I can tell. Have I just been conditioned by society to think that romance is dead? Am I that bitter? Do I really believe that if a guy were to do any of those things that he's only after one thing?

How sad is that? Am I really that cynical when it comes to old fashioned romance? I feel like Carrie on Sex & the City.

Instead of trying to just get over it, I think I've come up with the explanation. Especially living in a big city, where everyone is basically here for their profession (in one way or another), there is a strong emphasis on power and getting ahead. And for women, it's even more important to focus on that goal. We are trained in many circles to make that our number one priority... not to be distracted by foolish sidebars like romance. Romance makes you weak... romance makes you vulnerable.

That's it! Aversion to romance is totally a defense mechanism. If I allow myself to give into it, I make myself vulnerable to emotions that might distract me from what should be my goal. After all, I am not here to clean a house and be a baby factory. No siree. I must prove my worth in more important areas... like memo writing and budget management! Ha.

So I protect myself from being emotional, from being hurt... and I laugh at romance.

But this sort of thinking causes a paradox in my head. What is a relationship without romance? Just a friend of the opposite sex? Just the physical gratification?

Nah, romance is alive. We just have to let it back in. The more I think about it, the more I believe we can have the best of both worlds. Someone just told me not to give up. Keep trying. You get hurt, so what. Get back up. Try again.

I cry at the Mighty Ducks. I lose it during Hallmark commercials and Beaches. That is me. I love to see people love eachother... holding hands, a warm glance, a kiss when they think no one is watching. That is romance. And it's out there.

My mom and I were part of larger conversation a few months ago. We started talking about marriage versus being on your own. Someone said, men, what good are they? Who needs them, right? And my mom turns to me and says, "I hope you find love. I know it's out there for you."

And so giving up is no longer an option...

Bring on that fireplace on a snowy evening! I'll get some champagne and strawberries. Just no heart shaped vibrating beds. That is one step too far, I'm sorry.

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…