I Am a Patron of the A.R.T.S.
...the A.R.T.S. being the Addict Relationship Theatre Series as performed by my neighor's renters.
This time, one of their occasional shouting matches took place in the wee hours of the morning. Things quieted down after I banged on the floor with a floor lamp, but I was unable to get back to sleep. *sigh*
Showing posts with label Where I'm At. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Where I'm At. Show all posts
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Tuesday, July 06, 2010
I Can Bring Home the Bacon...
Not too long ago a fellow blogger who lives in Congress Heights said she was not returning to our local Giant because it was just too much. I responded that this was too bad, but I did understand. As much as I want to put money into the neighborhood, I don't always shop there. Still, it is good to live near a supermarket because if I need something I don't have to go too far to get it.
Yesterday, I was tired and with a high of 100 or so, I didn't want to go too far. I had some time off and wanted to try a new recipe that require bacon that I did not have. So I ventured out and the drama began in the parking lot.
Two men dressed as women were causing a commotion and of course didn't care. One had on a bustier and one had on a bra. While they conversed loudly about something that only they understood, people in the parking stared and talk about them aloud. Near the door a woman loudly lamented that one of the men had such smooth, pretty skin, saying how unfair it was.
Inside I was greeted by a chewed up chicken bone in one aisle and spills in other aisles that had been left, but frames with caution cones. As I waited in line, a man knocked over something else and yelled loudly , "Clean up on aisle nine."
When I got back to the parking lot a rep for some obscure mayoral candidate had set up shop right in front of my car. It wasn't until I got in and turned on the engine that he and the man he was speaking to decided to move.
But, hey, I had my bacon.
Sunday, August 17, 2008
Boundaries
I was just outside and politely asked a little boy on the other side of my building's parking gate to not tie a string around the gate at the point where it slides open and closed.
He asked me why the gate was there in the first place.
I shrugged and gave him my brilliant grown-up answer: that's the way they made it. After that he went away.
I'm sure he just a curious little boy and yet, I still think that Good Gates Make Good Neighbors.
Perhaps this is why:
Enter Ye Through the Narrow Gate
I was just outside and politely asked a little boy on the other side of my building's parking gate to not tie a string around the gate at the point where it slides open and closed.
He asked me why the gate was there in the first place.
I shrugged and gave him my brilliant grown-up answer: that's the way they made it. After that he went away.
I'm sure he just a curious little boy and yet, I still think that Good Gates Make Good Neighbors.
Perhaps this is why:
Enter Ye Through the Narrow Gate
Thursday, July 17, 2008
Domestic Violence Hits Home (Again)
Yesterday I learned that in the wee hours, as I slept, my neighbor was being beaten within an inch of her life.
For Bianca
Monday, April 14, 2008
All the News That's Fit for Free
I had all sorts of brilliant and witty things to say about the Newseum right after I visited it on Friday...but I went away for the weekend and forgot them all.
The line was loooong because there was free admission on Friday. After walking what seemed like a interminable distance (maybe the length of 5 blocks) to get to the end of the line, I was pleasantly surprised to find that the line moved quickly.
The building is impressive, there is a lot to see and read and the interactive exhibits really enhance the experience. The view of DC from the top floor is great.
Most of all I am happy to report that I saw it for free because as nice as it was, I doubt I'd pay the regular $20 admission price for the experience.
Tuesday, April 08, 2008
A Bus Built for Two
I got on a bus, and seeing that the back was occupied by teenagers, including a girl sitting on a boy's lap, I sat in the front.
This seating arrangement was old news to me, so I was surprised when, after I'd been on the bus for 20 minutes, I heard the bus driver come over the loud speaker and say in a very quiet way, " Young lady. Young lady in the pink jacket, this ain't the love boat."
I got on a bus, and seeing that the back was occupied by teenagers, including a girl sitting on a boy's lap, I sat in the front.
This seating arrangement was old news to me, so I was surprised when, after I'd been on the bus for 20 minutes, I heard the bus driver come over the loud speaker and say in a very quiet way, " Young lady. Young lady in the pink jacket, this ain't the love boat."
Friday, April 04, 2008
Assumptions
Yesterday I saw a man walking down the street holding an ADT sign. My first thought was that he stole it and I wondered what would make him want it. As they say, people will take anything that is not nailed down.
Then I thought better of it: perhaps he was an ADT customer going home to gently stick the sign on his own lawn.
Then I thought better of that: maybe he'd stole the sign from another house protected by ADT, so he could put the sign on his lawn to make it seem like he has a security system.
If that is the case, then I would not have been wrong in assuming he stole it, but wrong for assuming that he had no lawn of his own upon which to display the sign.
Yesterday I saw a man walking down the street holding an ADT sign. My first thought was that he stole it and I wondered what would make him want it. As they say, people will take anything that is not nailed down.
Then I thought better of it: perhaps he was an ADT customer going home to gently stick the sign on his own lawn.
Then I thought better of that: maybe he'd stole the sign from another house protected by ADT, so he could put the sign on his lawn to make it seem like he has a security system.
If that is the case, then I would not have been wrong in assuming he stole it, but wrong for assuming that he had no lawn of his own upon which to display the sign.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Mooning Redefined
When I saw the first billboard it seemed like a joke, but then I saw a second and figured this thing was real.
Some company (and I am not going to help then be referring you to their website) is advertising on the moon. And they will help you do the same (if you pay them).
The next question is obvious: What's next, the sun?
Skywriting is cool. I'm down with the Goodyear Blimp. But are we really going to deface the moon?
When I saw the first billboard it seemed like a joke, but then I saw a second and figured this thing was real.
Some company (and I am not going to help then be referring you to their website) is advertising on the moon. And they will help you do the same (if you pay them).
The next question is obvious: What's next, the sun?
Skywriting is cool. I'm down with the Goodyear Blimp. But are we really going to deface the moon?
Sunday, March 09, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Good Gates Make Good Neighbors
I was chit-chatting with a guy who lives in NoVa and I said something about my building's electronic gate.
"Gate?" he says. "I didn't think they had gates over there."
I live in Southeast DC, not the wild, wild west. Of course we have gates!!
Who needs gates more than people who live in one of the worst parts of the city?
I was chit-chatting with a guy who lives in NoVa and I said something about my building's electronic gate.
"Gate?" he says. "I didn't think they had gates over there."
I live in Southeast DC, not the wild, wild west. Of course we have gates!!
Who needs gates more than people who live in one of the worst parts of the city?
Wednesday, January 16, 2008
Sticks and Stones
The other day a gentleman tried to get my attention as I walked down the street. He did not speak to me directly, but instead said something in my ear as he rushed past me. I barely knew he had spoken, but no matter. the fact that I didn't reply was proof enough that I was set on ignoring and disrespecting him.
He began to yell back over his shoulder at me. "I SAID Hello!!!"
Normally I ignore this sorts of thing--there is no need for me to get stabbed in the eye by some lunatic. But for some reason that day I was annoyed enough to yell back. I don't even know what I said. Something about talking to people and not whispering in their ears.
Then I went into Starbucks. The older man and his daughter who had witnessed all of this also went into Starbucks.
I got in line and perused the front page of a newspaper. Lo and behold the "gentleman caller" also decided to patronize Starbucks. "What did you say?"
"It was nice meeting you. Goodbye." Then I returned to my paper.
He paused and then made ready to hurl his insult. "Nerd," he said as if I were a truly despicable creature.
Obviously,during our brief encounter, he had managed to look inside my soul. But, is that any way to treat your true love?
I threw my head back and laughed, as the older man stared.
The other day a gentleman tried to get my attention as I walked down the street. He did not speak to me directly, but instead said something in my ear as he rushed past me. I barely knew he had spoken, but no matter. the fact that I didn't reply was proof enough that I was set on ignoring and disrespecting him.
He began to yell back over his shoulder at me. "I SAID Hello!!!"
Normally I ignore this sorts of thing--there is no need for me to get stabbed in the eye by some lunatic. But for some reason that day I was annoyed enough to yell back. I don't even know what I said. Something about talking to people and not whispering in their ears.
Then I went into Starbucks. The older man and his daughter who had witnessed all of this also went into Starbucks.
I got in line and perused the front page of a newspaper. Lo and behold the "gentleman caller" also decided to patronize Starbucks. "What did you say?"
"It was nice meeting you. Goodbye." Then I returned to my paper.
He paused and then made ready to hurl his insult. "Nerd," he said as if I were a truly despicable creature.
Obviously,during our brief encounter, he had managed to look inside my soul. But, is that any way to treat your true love?
I threw my head back and laughed, as the older man stared.
Sunday, December 09, 2007
The Early Bird Gets...
How often have you left the movie theater and felt like what you just saw lacked substance? Often enough, I'm sure.
About a month ago, I had that experience, not because the movie was badly written or had terrible acting, but because no one bothered to show up to show the movie.
After I and other hopeful moviegoers got up early to get to the Landmark-E Street Cinema one Saturday morning, no one in management bothered to appear. Two junior employees came, but they had no access to the systems that control the cash register or ticket dispenser and they could not show any movies. We waited, but there was nothing they could do.
A third employee who had phone numbers for the managers arrived and started to make calls. This employee could show movies, so they offered to let us see "No Country for Old Men" for free. But by then I was tired and annoyed, so I went home.
How often have you left the movie theater and felt like what you just saw lacked substance? Often enough, I'm sure.
About a month ago, I had that experience, not because the movie was badly written or had terrible acting, but because no one bothered to show up to show the movie.
After I and other hopeful moviegoers got up early to get to the Landmark-E Street Cinema one Saturday morning, no one in management bothered to appear. Two junior employees came, but they had no access to the systems that control the cash register or ticket dispenser and they could not show any movies. We waited, but there was nothing they could do.
A third employee who had phone numbers for the managers arrived and started to make calls. This employee could show movies, so they offered to let us see "No Country for Old Men" for free. But by then I was tired and annoyed, so I went home.
Friday, September 28, 2007
I'm Not in Kansas Anymore
So I've moved into a new 'hood and things are a little different.
Today I went to the store and looked for bagels in the bakery section.
All the bagel bins were labeled except one and for the life of me I couldn't figure out what kind of bagels were in that bin. There was a possibility that they could be onion, and nothing would ruin my breakfast like discovering I'd purchased an onion bagel.
I stopped an employee who was heading my way from the back and asked if she knew.
"No," she said. "There is only one way to find out."
And with that, she picked up a bagel and broke into halves. She gave me one half and told me to taste it. I tried it. It wasn't onion.
"It looks like it might be plain," she commented. Apparently I had been mislead by the flecks on the outside. The bin above these bagels said "New York" and those bagels looked smooth.
Then she tried her half. "Fresh," was her pronouncement. Then took her half and went on her way.
In my old 'hood, all of the bagels would have been labeled, leaving no room for doubt. And no employee would have ever split a bagel with me for any reason.
I was left with a bagel half that I hadn't paid for but wanted to eat. I felt a little guilty--what if someone saw me? Would I look like one of those people who just eats stuff in stores? I hid the bagel half as a security guard walked past me. Who'd believe that I'd been given a taste test?
Then I thought that a child saw the quarter of a bagel that remained and gave me an envious look.
By the time I got to the fruit section with a bagel eighth and saw a woman munching on grapes, and not employee in sight. I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
So I've moved into a new 'hood and things are a little different.
Today I went to the store and looked for bagels in the bakery section.
All the bagel bins were labeled except one and for the life of me I couldn't figure out what kind of bagels were in that bin. There was a possibility that they could be onion, and nothing would ruin my breakfast like discovering I'd purchased an onion bagel.
I stopped an employee who was heading my way from the back and asked if she knew.
"No," she said. "There is only one way to find out."
And with that, she picked up a bagel and broke into halves. She gave me one half and told me to taste it. I tried it. It wasn't onion.
"It looks like it might be plain," she commented. Apparently I had been mislead by the flecks on the outside. The bin above these bagels said "New York" and those bagels looked smooth.
Then she tried her half. "Fresh," was her pronouncement. Then took her half and went on her way.
In my old 'hood, all of the bagels would have been labeled, leaving no room for doubt. And no employee would have ever split a bagel with me for any reason.
I was left with a bagel half that I hadn't paid for but wanted to eat. I felt a little guilty--what if someone saw me? Would I look like one of those people who just eats stuff in stores? I hid the bagel half as a security guard walked past me. Who'd believe that I'd been given a taste test?
Then I thought that a child saw the quarter of a bagel that remained and gave me an envious look.
By the time I got to the fruit section with a bagel eighth and saw a woman munching on grapes, and not employee in sight. I figured if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.
Shortchanged
I am used to hearing about how waitstaff at restaurants work hard only to find that uncaring customers leave them no tip. In a book I read unruly teenagers even left coins as a tip in the bottom of a milkshake glass. They laughed at the thought of their waitress having to fish down into the glass to get the much-needed money.
So while my recent experience does not compare, I have to say that I didn't expect to find myself stiffed by a waitress.
After a quick lunch, I returned the check with a bill that was more than the amount. The waitress asked if I wanted change, and I said yes. The service has been all well and good, but not getting change meant giving her an tip that was over 30% of the bill. I tip, but I wasn't feeling that generous.
She returned the check to the table and I didn't open it right away because I was typing away on my laptop. When I did open it, I was surprised to find two dollar bills and no receipt.
Now I had an idea of what the amount was, but did not remember exactly. And without a receipt, how could I be sure? I just knew that I had not been given all of my change. So when I approached her to point out that a) I had no receipt and more importantly b)she hadn't given me all of my change, she muttered some feeble excuses about making a mistake in rounding.
Maybe it was an "honest" mistake, I really don't know. I do know that a bigger tip comes by giving better service, not by skimming off the top.
I am used to hearing about how waitstaff at restaurants work hard only to find that uncaring customers leave them no tip. In a book I read unruly teenagers even left coins as a tip in the bottom of a milkshake glass. They laughed at the thought of their waitress having to fish down into the glass to get the much-needed money.
So while my recent experience does not compare, I have to say that I didn't expect to find myself stiffed by a waitress.
After a quick lunch, I returned the check with a bill that was more than the amount. The waitress asked if I wanted change, and I said yes. The service has been all well and good, but not getting change meant giving her an tip that was over 30% of the bill. I tip, but I wasn't feeling that generous.
She returned the check to the table and I didn't open it right away because I was typing away on my laptop. When I did open it, I was surprised to find two dollar bills and no receipt.
Now I had an idea of what the amount was, but did not remember exactly. And without a receipt, how could I be sure? I just knew that I had not been given all of my change. So when I approached her to point out that a) I had no receipt and more importantly b)she hadn't given me all of my change, she muttered some feeble excuses about making a mistake in rounding.
Maybe it was an "honest" mistake, I really don't know. I do know that a bigger tip comes by giving better service, not by skimming off the top.
Tuesday, May 16, 2006
When Ducks Attack
The other day I was walking out of my building and I saw a man carrying a Bible in one hand and a watermelon on his shoulder. As he walked, one of the rather corpulent ducks who have made the grounds of our high rise their home, approached and began to hiss at him.
I gave him and the duck a wide berth and we met up farther down the path.
"You scared?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes!" I said, and he laughed.
Perhaps carrying a Bible and a watermelon makes you invincible.
The other day I was walking out of my building and I saw a man carrying a Bible in one hand and a watermelon on his shoulder. As he walked, one of the rather corpulent ducks who have made the grounds of our high rise their home, approached and began to hiss at him.
I gave him and the duck a wide berth and we met up farther down the path.
"You scared?" he asked, smiling.
"Yes!" I said, and he laughed.
Perhaps carrying a Bible and a watermelon makes you invincible.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
Countdown to Impact
A friend called me while driving into DC from Richmond, and asked what was up with our speed limits because the numbers on the signs keep changing.
She could have been talking about those signs where your speed is broadcasted as you drive past, but from her description and location, I knew that she was not talking about those.
I realized that she was referring to the countdown signs for pedestrians.
"You don't have those in Richmond?" I asked.
"No," she said. It sounded a little like an accusation.
"Welcome to life in the big city," I replied.
A friend called me while driving into DC from Richmond, and asked what was up with our speed limits because the numbers on the signs keep changing.
She could have been talking about those signs where your speed is broadcasted as you drive past, but from her description and location, I knew that she was not talking about those.
I realized that she was referring to the countdown signs for pedestrians.
"You don't have those in Richmond?" I asked.
"No," she said. It sounded a little like an accusation.
"Welcome to life in the big city," I replied.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Shared Memory
For the past few days as I have walked down the hallway, coming and going, I have seen the same thing in front of a neighbor's door: a brown paper bag on top of a tv dinner. I don't know what mysteries the paper bag contains, but I can see that the tv dinner is a tv dinner. Especially since it is not in a box.
As I write this, I am thinking, "Why didn't you at least mention it to the manager?" Couldn't tell you why. Could have been left by a friend? Meals on Wheels? I have never seen that door open, and I don't know who lives there. I hope this person or those people are still alive, and just neglectful. Or on vacation.
This reminds me of the time I went on a class trip to Albany in the 6th grade. We stayed at an Econo Lodge. The building was painted with vertical turquoise and white stripes.
For the three days of our stay the same tray of food remained outside of the room next door. I had the gruesome thought that we would come down the hallway to find the tray covered with ants. But that didn't happen.
My brother, who was two years behind me at the same school, claims to have the same memory (school trip, Econo Lodge, tray of food unremoved). I tell him that he has just co-opted my memory, and he emphatically denies this. No matter. I am not particulary possessive about that memory anyway.
For the past few days as I have walked down the hallway, coming and going, I have seen the same thing in front of a neighbor's door: a brown paper bag on top of a tv dinner. I don't know what mysteries the paper bag contains, but I can see that the tv dinner is a tv dinner. Especially since it is not in a box.
As I write this, I am thinking, "Why didn't you at least mention it to the manager?" Couldn't tell you why. Could have been left by a friend? Meals on Wheels? I have never seen that door open, and I don't know who lives there. I hope this person or those people are still alive, and just neglectful. Or on vacation.
This reminds me of the time I went on a class trip to Albany in the 6th grade. We stayed at an Econo Lodge. The building was painted with vertical turquoise and white stripes.
For the three days of our stay the same tray of food remained outside of the room next door. I had the gruesome thought that we would come down the hallway to find the tray covered with ants. But that didn't happen.
My brother, who was two years behind me at the same school, claims to have the same memory (school trip, Econo Lodge, tray of food unremoved). I tell him that he has just co-opted my memory, and he emphatically denies this. No matter. I am not particulary possessive about that memory anyway.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Float on
If you have never had men float past your window, you don't know what you're missing.
These are no hallucinations, but the real thing. The never-ending construction on my building means that I experience this quite often. And this would have been a touching tribute to all their hard work...if they hadn't started hammering quite earlier than usual the other day, waking me up. I want them to be gone so I can miss them already.
If I look out of my huge window, and see the hanging ropes start to shake, I know the visitors will soon appear. I rush to close my blinds, in anticipation. Sometimes they stop right in front of my window; other times the keep gliding up to visit one of my neighbors.
If a song that I love from back in the day comes on the radio, then they are likely to show up with a drill and drown it out.
But then again, they also just as likely to entertain me.
Once, I heard a harrowing tale of someone who traveled through Mexico, and Arizona, being chased by la migra (that's immigration, y'all). And another morning, outside my window there was a deep voice singing, "¡Qué bonito! ¡Qué bonito!" Ah...my first serenata (serenade). Although I enjoyed the serenade, we really don't like the same music. Their radio is tuned into the all ranchera station, while I prefer salsa, merengue, bachata and Latin pop.
Even as I write this, the ropes are shaking.
But today they have passed me by, moving up to higher heights.
If you have never had men float past your window, you don't know what you're missing.
These are no hallucinations, but the real thing. The never-ending construction on my building means that I experience this quite often. And this would have been a touching tribute to all their hard work...if they hadn't started hammering quite earlier than usual the other day, waking me up. I want them to be gone so I can miss them already.
If I look out of my huge window, and see the hanging ropes start to shake, I know the visitors will soon appear. I rush to close my blinds, in anticipation. Sometimes they stop right in front of my window; other times the keep gliding up to visit one of my neighbors.
If a song that I love from back in the day comes on the radio, then they are likely to show up with a drill and drown it out.
But then again, they also just as likely to entertain me.
Once, I heard a harrowing tale of someone who traveled through Mexico, and Arizona, being chased by la migra (that's immigration, y'all). And another morning, outside my window there was a deep voice singing, "¡Qué bonito! ¡Qué bonito!" Ah...my first serenata (serenade). Although I enjoyed the serenade, we really don't like the same music. Their radio is tuned into the all ranchera station, while I prefer salsa, merengue, bachata and Latin pop.
Even as I write this, the ropes are shaking.
But today they have passed me by, moving up to higher heights.
Tuesday, November 08, 2005
Priceless
I went to vote this morning in local elections and it was a lot easier to find a parking space than when I voted in the last national election. The wait was rather short, too. But that is to be expected.
As I waited for the two people ahead of me to sign in, I read the sign asking people to present ID. I looked in my wallet and pulled out a card. Had I really looked, I would have seen what it was, but I didn't. It has become habit: if I am reaching into my wallet, this is the card I must need. As I got closer to the registration table, I saw that what I had in my hand was not my driver's license, but a debit card. Now that is a sad commentary indeed because clearly my name is not Visa.
The good thing about where I live is that the city has money. You as a citizen may not have any, but the city does, which means you can benefit from good libraries, community programs, etc. We have electronic voting machines, and each voter is given a code to enter, so your vote is identified by code. There are no chads, pregnant or otherwise. (You already forgot about that, didn't you?)
For once I can say that I have actually seen one of the candidates, up close and personal. One of these hopefuls actually came to my church. Not only did he come, but he stayed for the entire service, and went downstairs to talk to people afterwards. Now as a child, I saw candidates come to my church, to do a "drop in and wave". They came, the pastor recognized them, maybe they said a few words, maybe not, and then they left. Of course the fact there there were 5 churches on that particular stretch of road made it a good area to visit because you could hit several congregations at once and still be home for dinner.
After I had electronically selected my choice for the next governor, etc. I received a smile and an "I voted" sticker with a wavy American flag on it. Not bad at all, considering that my own father narrowly missed being shot when he traveled to Mississippi to try to register voters in the 60s. Not bad at all.
I went to vote this morning in local elections and it was a lot easier to find a parking space than when I voted in the last national election. The wait was rather short, too. But that is to be expected.
As I waited for the two people ahead of me to sign in, I read the sign asking people to present ID. I looked in my wallet and pulled out a card. Had I really looked, I would have seen what it was, but I didn't. It has become habit: if I am reaching into my wallet, this is the card I must need. As I got closer to the registration table, I saw that what I had in my hand was not my driver's license, but a debit card. Now that is a sad commentary indeed because clearly my name is not Visa.
The good thing about where I live is that the city has money. You as a citizen may not have any, but the city does, which means you can benefit from good libraries, community programs, etc. We have electronic voting machines, and each voter is given a code to enter, so your vote is identified by code. There are no chads, pregnant or otherwise. (You already forgot about that, didn't you?)
For once I can say that I have actually seen one of the candidates, up close and personal. One of these hopefuls actually came to my church. Not only did he come, but he stayed for the entire service, and went downstairs to talk to people afterwards. Now as a child, I saw candidates come to my church, to do a "drop in and wave". They came, the pastor recognized them, maybe they said a few words, maybe not, and then they left. Of course the fact there there were 5 churches on that particular stretch of road made it a good area to visit because you could hit several congregations at once and still be home for dinner.
After I had electronically selected my choice for the next governor, etc. I received a smile and an "I voted" sticker with a wavy American flag on it. Not bad at all, considering that my own father narrowly missed being shot when he traveled to Mississippi to try to register voters in the 60s. Not bad at all.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)