The Price of Admission
In this topsy-turvy world we've both liberated ourselves from and chained ourselves to principles we like to say are old-fashioned. For example, if you see a woman standing next to a man and they are about the same age, what is your first thought about their connection to each other?

A friend of mine (female) told me that when she took a vacation with a friend of hers (male) and everyone assumed they were married. They are neither married nor are they dating. But I can see how people thought that. They are close in age and they were at a resort.

Once, however, I was standing somewhere next to my brother, and was taken aback when someone thought we were somehow romantically linked (although we are also close in age).

Now there was a time when if a man and a woman presented themselves at a public venue, an employee would assume that the man was paying. For example, at a restaurant, the man would be presented the check at a restaurant. Now, in the modern era, they tend to put the check in the middle of the table. But I hadn't considered that these assumptions could easily be reversed in these equal opportunity times...

Just this week, I went to see a movie with a male friend who let me get ahead of him in line. There was only one movie showing, so I didn't have to say, "1 for movie such and such." When the theater employee gave me back my change, I paused. She asked, "Two tickets, right?" I said, " Uh...no." Why did she think I was paying for him?

My friend took umbrage (now there's an old-fashioned notion) at the way I responded. I guess it was less than chivalrous of me to take umbrage at the notion that I'd pay for him to see a movie.

Backstage Pass

Today I took photos at the Aquarium in Baltimore for an article I'm working on and they let me behind the ropes to get a closer look at the dolphins. They were all so cute! It reminded me of when I sent to Sea World as a kid and fell in love with the dolphins there. I declared that I would one day have one as a pet. (Well, actually it was a toss up between a dolphin and a giraffe...)

When Urban Legends Become Real

A while back someone forwarded me an article about how the a certain three-lettered white supremacist group was supporting Barack Obama over Hillary Clinton because they preferred a man of any type to a woman.

It seemed unreal and of course it was. Turns out that someone had seen an article from the satirical news publication, The Onion, and thought it was actual news.

Now Yahoo news has posted a video of a white supremacist who claims that Obama being president could boost their cause. So while The Onion's satirical musings didn't exactly come true...they did have a point.

Apparently, Obama really can bring change that anyone can believe in...

Where the Parking is Easy

So I've already written about taking that ride to the MD/DC frontier. Now I want to point out something that one takes for granted as a fact of life while living in other parts of town...parts of town that people other than the ones living there actually want to go visit. That thing would be: parking restrictions.

For the most part, we don't have them.

You can park your horse or wagon on the street anywhere you want, for as long as you want. You don't have to feed a meter. You don't have to move your car to one side or the other depending on the day. You just park and go. Even in a residential area, a few blocks from a metro station, there is nothing to stop you from parking and leaving your car sitting on the street all day.

Yes, yes, I can imagine you saying, "But if no one wants to even go there, who would want to park there?" And yet there are plenty of cars all around.

Will this change one day? Probably. Will people who used to park wherever, whenever be mad when the era of free parking love comes to end. It is likely.

Until then, park on.

Sharing Spaces


No matter who you are you are one of "those people" to someone else. Since I belong to a group of people who is often accused of being too loud, it is interesting to see how the tables can turn.

Lately, I have been on the train, going towards the section of the wild frontier that is the MD/DC border that I call home at the same time that people are making their way to Nationals stadium. And of course there is an interesting mix of people. The trains sometimes (rather annoyingly) stop just short of my destination so they can turn around to shuttle more people to baseball games.

Now I can't say they all are white or that they all are suburban, but...many of them are both of those things. There's the anxious people who keep consulting the map and asking their companions just when to leave the train. The woman hugging and continually kissing her toddler, asking him if he is okay. The people loudly telling their kids just how this whole train-transportation-system-and- walking-to-the-stadium thing works.

And then there are commuters and frontier residents...looking tired, drooping faces, eyes sometimes closed, sometimes open with faraway looks, wondering why we suddenly have to share the train with these folks.

I've been to baseball games and understand the excitement and anticipation. But I've also ridden the train home after a long day at work and understand the need for space and silence.

One day when the train was stuffed to the gills with baseball fans, it was amazing to see the change in the atmosphere once they all left. One woman put words to everyone else's silent sighs of relief. "Ugh. They just keep talking and they are so loud..."

An American Nightmare

I like to laugh and I like to be silly, so I am loathe to blog about the serious stuff. But sometimes ya gotta do what ya gotta do. So here goes...

Many moons ago when I was having problems getting the telephone service to work in my new condo (my wires were literally crossed with the unit next door), a sympathetic Verizon tech said, "When I brought my first house, I got taken too." And she was just referring to what she knew--the messed up wiring. Little did I know just how much was really wrong.

My foray in the the American dream (homeownership) has become something of a nightmare. And I really want to wake up.

One blog entry really cannot do justice (ah, what a concept) to the ways in which our developer/seller/management company swindled us. We have severed our relationship with them, but we still have a long road to ahead of us.
-Our building did not pass its DC inspections and they canceled the appointments for re-inspection.
-They were loathe to actually maintain the building and condescending to those who requested services that are pretty much standard.
-They took our condo fees and basically pocketed them. So instead of having a cushion of money in the bank earning interest, we have nothing.
-They continue to try to extort money from us. Just yesterday, they claimed we still owe them thousands of dollars.

And they are at it again...

Yeah, I know only 3 people read my blog, but that doesn't mean someone else won't find it. So if you see a property put up by Longwood Properties, LLC, just walk on by. If you work for Homeland Security or are thinking of moving to Anacostia because of the low prices, do not consider Eaton Place Condos at 1500 Eaton Road SE.

Sure these "spacious Three and Four Bedrooms/2 Bath condos start at $293,900," but sometimes you get what you pay for. I know because I am still paying...

Welcoming Committee

An evening of firsts--

Leaving the train today, I saw a woman who lives in my building who'd I'd never seen on the train before.

As we walked down the street, we saw a beautiful little boy in a bright orange shirt. He came running towards us and I wondered who he was going to meet.

I was very surprised when he stopped in front of me, grabbed by legs, and yelled, "Hi!"

The men who were watching him stood back against a gate and smiled as I hugged him back.

You'll Put Your Eye Out!
...or somebody else's.
I saw some guy on the train today with a thumb tack in his mouth/ (Pointy side out.)

Terrifying.

The Odyssey

Day before last, I had a simple plan, but as you know the best laid plans often get laid aside...Systemwide metro delays or a metaphor for life? You decide.

I got to a Metro station and just missed a train. Then I found out that trains were delayed. So I waited. And waited. Eventually a train showed up, and by now lots of people had gathered.

It didn't take long to see that the delays were still in effect. The train kept stopping for about 10 minutes at every other station. So for that time I sat underground. Every once in a while, I'd glance at someone else and we'd beam sympathy to each other and go back to waiting.

Finally, I'd decided I'd had enough. I was going to leave the subway at the next station and travel aboveground...if and when the train ever arrived at the next station.

The train teased us by started and then stopping again, but finally I got to a station where the doors remained closed for a bit. When they finally opened, I darted out as if I had been held captive.

I didn't fare better aboveground: the bus I thought would take me to my destination simply didn't show up. I'd called a friend and when she called me back she too had abandoned the original plan. She was at a restaurant one metro stop away. The bus to get there had already passed because my thought was to travel in the opposite direction.

I abandoned my first destination and walked to the restaurant. Later she dropped me off at a train station, where I saw a familiar site: tons of people gathered on the platform. Why? Because there were still delays, even on this different train line on another side of town. *sigh*

Maybe 10-20 minutes later, a train arrives (although the loudspeakers at the station spend the entire time announcing that a train was arriving any moment).

When I got home I was tired and it was dark. So I decided to take the bus from the train station. I checked the timetable and prepared to wait again.

The bus was early.

Death Be Not Proud

As a word person, I have to say that some words irk me or perhaps I should say I find the way people use some words is irksome.

Case in point: my brother and his wife like to use the word "kill" when they finish off anything.

"Can I kill this orange juice?"

"I killed the rest of the pizza."

This word is standard in journalism when it is decided that a story will not run.

I'm doing some contract work as fact checker and I sat in an editorial meeting where someone declared that a famous actress had been "killed." Though he knew perfectly well what this terminology means in a journalistic setting, one editor looked shocked for a second. For just a moment, he thought that the woman had died, when really the story about her had been stricken from the current issue of the publication.

Speaking of stricken stories...I just learned that a story I toiled over for The Washington Post was killed. It isn't a death and yet I mourn...

But some stories are resurrected and brought back to life. In their original form or in some alternative format. So hope springs eternal.

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

The View from Cedar Hill

The other day I needed to clear my head and so I finally went to Frederick Douglass’s house (called Cedar Hill) in Anacostia. This visit has been on my to-do list since I moved to an area not too far from Cedar Hill last year.

I’ve been impressed with him since I read his autobiography, Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass, An American Slave, in the seventh grade. I mean really impressed, and not just because someone told me I should be. When you read that book, you see just how much a person can do if they are determined. And you see how it is possible not to let the injustices heaped upon you stand in your way.

Across from Cedar Hill, I could hear someone yelling about not people not “cleaning up sh!t.” Douglass would be sad to see Anacostia as it is now.

I walked the grounds to think and decided not to take the tour. To be honest, I really did just want to walk around, but I couldn't tour the house even if I'd wanted to because the upcoming tour was full. As I turned the corner, I met a woman who was on the same wavelength as I was—she lives in Anacostia and remarked on how sad Douglass would be if he saw it now.

You can sit on Frederick Douglass’s porch and see a lot of the city. It is really up much higher than I imagined and the view is spectacular. So there we sat, thinking and lamenting a little.

Since my digital camera died, I couldn’t take any pictures(*sigh*). So this means I have to return. Plus, I need to see the house.

In the meantime, here’s a quote from the man himself:

“Neither we not any other people will ever be respected till we respect ourselves, and we will never respect ourselves till we have the means to live respectably.”

-Frederick Douglass

More About Cedar Hill

Potato Potahto, Tomato, Tomahto...Who Cares I'm Hungry

Before having to swat away Buzz while at Virginia Beach this past weekend, I got an interesting lesson in pronunciation.

With the dawn of the radio and television age, it seemed as if regional accents shrunk, at least a little. The difference between regional accents may not be quite as strong as it used to be, but differences still exist…

Here is a conversation between me and a friend from Manassas, VA at a restaurant:

Manassas: What's in that box?
Buffalo: Crayons

Manassas: What's in that box?
Buffalo: Crayons

(I go back to trying to open a tiny, triangular box of crayons that would rather to stay shut, thinking that if I open the box and show them to her, it will all be clear and I can get to coloring.)

Manassas: What?!
Buffalo: Crayons! CRAY-ONS!
Manassas: OH, cray-ons!

All that time what I had been saying sounded like "crans," a perfectly acceptable one-syllable word that was unintelligible to a friend from Manassas who only understood the word when it has two syllables.


P.S. For those of you who could care less about how the word was said and are more interested in the fact that I had crayons in the first place, I'll say this: Coloring is a good distraction from hunger for people of all ages. It keeps you from gnawing on your own arm or snapping at your dining companions.

Overheard in Friendship Heights

Three African women were in front of me, getting ready to cross the street.

One said, "When the white man says walk, you walk."

This gave me pause...until I remembered the white stick figure on the traffic signal.

But still...

Overheard: Congress Heights & Friendship Heights

Where There’s Smoke…

This past weekend I was in Virginia Beach where the air offered the smell of a long-lasting barbecue. Sometimes the smell reminded me of mesquite and made me a little hungry, but at other times it was just an annoying smoky smell. Somehow while I paid attention to the news of the floods in the Midwest, I’d missed the news about the North Carolina wildfires. Since VA Beach is not far from the North Carolina border, the winds had pushed the smoke toward the beach.

Along with the smoke came gnats and other annoying pests. While they did not ruin my time away by any means, they did make things interesting.

We swatted the gnats with our hands. It took more interesting maneuvers, however, to get rid of some of the annoying pests. For example fake names and a vague response in reply to a question about our plans helped get rid of “Buzz.” This pest approached me and my girlfriends promising us that there was “more than enough of him to go around” and asked which one of us was married. He even lifted up his shirt to show us the merchandise…

DIY Blog Post

If a picture is worth 1000 words, then I hope this one speaks of independence, BBQ and Fourth of July-ness. It at least says something about sunny days. Enjoy the holiday!

No Movies for You!

So I threw caution to the wind the other day and decided to attend one of those free movie screening in the middle of the day. The ones I've been to at night work out and the last one I saw in the daytime (Baby Mama) went off without a hitch. Plus, this one came with the promise of free donuts.

Well, the joke was on me because when I arrived I learned that Ytic had sent out an erroneous e-mail: the screening had actually happened the day before. Although the e-mail went out in the afternoon, AFTER the screening actually took place...Very annoying.

Not on the same level as the time I went to a theater where I'd planned to pay and no one was there to show the movie, but annoying nonetheless. I must say though, that Landmark E did a good job of making up for this infraction, while it seems Ytic could care less.

But as always, every loss comes with some gain: my fellow movie-going pilgrims were good folks and I picked up some valuable tips on jewelry-making and the local free screening scene.

The Price Ain't Right

It seems that the man who auctioned off his "life" on EBay was disappointed by the final bid. He was also annoyed that people weren't taking him seriously, evident from the unreal bids that he got.

Um...if your life is worthless to you, why would anyone else want to pay for it?

Really it was about the real estate anyway. The final bid ($382,712) was apparently a good amount for the sale of his house (which included car and motorcycle among other equipment).

Plenty of people sell their homes and start over without making it into a publicity stunt. Granted, I do understand that he is still smarting from a very painful divorce. But is that a life someone wants? The home, possessions and associations of some unhappy schmuck?

The part where he included introductions to his friends is what really threw me. Despite what commercials tell us, friendship can't be bought or sold. How supportive can these friends be if he included them in the sale? Is he obligated to cease all contact with these people once the intro has taken place?

I used to work in book publishing, where "rights" are bought and sold. But a friendship isn't like buying movie rights or the right to make a book into a play.

We all dream of having (the enviable parts) of someone's life...but as this man illustrates, we'd be better off re-working our own.

Superhero Saves Tree (sort of)

Great stories are everywhere and every little boy wants to be a superhero.

Outside in Shirlington the other day, I watched an amusing scene unfold.

A little boy sees a man cutting down a tree and yells, "He's cutting down that tree! He's cutting down that tree! Don't worry, I'll save you!"

He makes as if he will jump over the railing that is in his way, leaving his mother, sister, and another woman.

"You'll have five kids by then," the mother is saying to her friend.

"But in my country...," the woman responds with a heavy Latin accent.

The little boy, however, is still worried about the tree. With or without their support, he is determined to rescue the tree in peril.

"He's cutting down that tree!"

"It's dying," his sister says knowingly unperturbed.

Fun With Facebook

While I have yet to receive a proposal of marriage on Facebook, I have had some rather odd applications land in my inbox.

In the world of Facebook an application is some fun feature that lets you interact with your fellow Facebookers. A naked Facebook account comes complete with a Wall. People can write messages on your Wall for public viewing. Kind of like graffiti. You can also get a Super Wall, a Fun Wall, A Super Fun Wall, etc. You can give people cupcakes, send them quizzes, or throw Justin Timberlake at them, as you so desire.

These applications are not created by the makers of Facebook and each one you entertain lets more and more people/companies into your world. If a friend sends you a challenge or gift of some sort, you must sign up for the application to receive it. The Washington Post recently did an article about how all these Facebook applications can erode privacy.

So anyway, one day in my inbox I got a note “Person X wants to date you. Accept or Deny request.” Is this what it has come to? There is online dating. And someone with your e-mail address can send you an e-mail…but a Facebook application? Come on. I wrote this person a note asking if this was a serious request or just another cutesy application. They said more of the latter than the former. Nuff said.

Then I got a note saying from the “What does your birthday mean?” application that stated, “Person X thinks your birthday makes you a hottie!” Now what is it about my birthday that makes me a hottie? Is it the fact that I was likely born in this century? If your definition of hottie includes not being old as dirt, then that definition fits many people. Or was it some kind of zodiac thing?

This person who doesn’t know my birthday decided that my birthday somehow made me desirable and wanted me to sign up for an application to reveal my birthday and possibly find out what it means. Huh?

Having a birthday means I am alive and in the flesh. Computer communication has its place, but clever applications cannot replace well thought out words.

Rain, Rain Go Away

They say that into every life a little rain must fall.

What they don't say is that into every bedroom with shabbily installed windows, a lot of heavy rains must fall so that one wakes up to moving water on one's wood floors.

They also don't say anything about corrupt condo management declaring heavy rains to be a monsoon in an attempt to absolve themselves of responsibility. Because as everyone knows, DC does have its yearly bout with monsoon weather (not).

They also failed to mention a flood of untruths and unsubstantiated charges that could culminate in a swirling tide of frustration and tears.

But, hey, you really cannot expect them to tell you everything. And "they" are not to be blamed. My home still stands while people in the Midwest have seen their homes washed away.

But, hey, every storm has its rainbows and the rain makes things grow.

Hey, You Missed a Spot

While out on an assignment, I came across the Renwick Gallery for the first time. I am absolutely crazy about the Smithsonian and try to take advantage of all it has to offer as often as I can. So I was surprised to see that I had missed one of its galleries.

The building that houses the Renwick Gallery was the first home of the Corcoran Gallery of Art.

The sculpture of the rather put upon woman (there is a step in her back) is called "Louise." The chest pictured showing rabbits chasing a fox was aptly named "Bad Hare Day." The hunter becomes the hunted. It reminds me that I need to turn the tables and give chase to some folks myself.

Overheard

As always, I've got my ears open...

Overheard in Congress Heights
Man: They got a Lexus.
Woman: Now that's what the f%^k I'm talkin' about.

Overheard in Friendship Heights
Man to Woman: How many years have we been married? How many more do we have to go?

Remembering the Howard Theater in its Heyday

As I was taking photos of the old Howard Theater for a Road Trip article I wrote for the Washington Post (Raise Your Hands for a Gospel Tour of Washington), I was greeted by three old men sitting in a Cadillac. They regaled me with tales of the theater in its heyday. One said that Della Reese lived across the hall from him in Cleveland. They even told me that at one time the sign was on the corner of the building and not in the center where it is now. The theater is now in disrepair, but grant money is going to be used to restore the theater to its former greatness.

I was telling someone else about it later and they described it exactly as I thought of it—it was like being the barbershop. They were both comrades and rivals and they tripped over each other and helped each other in reminiscing. I was there to act as the audience they needed to take a trip back in time. For once, I stopped to listen rather than sticking to my plan of doing what I needed to do and moving on.

It was fantastic to hear them talk about growing up in DC and listen to a time when people were less cynical and it didn’t take so much to dazzle us. It was a thrill just to see the performers enter the theater. “I used to come up here just to smell how those men smelled,” one of them said to show just how intoxicating the experience was for him as a boy.

Customer Service Hall of Fame

Since grew up and flew the nest, I've gotten older and the world has gotten colder. I'd often find myself saying, "Customer service is dead." And most of the time, it really did seem dead. But here and there it shows glimmers of life.

A while back I wrote this post about how upset I was that I got up early one Saturday morning to see a matinee...and no one was there to show the film.

I was incensed enough to send in a complaint to theater management and the CEO was kind enough to not only reply apologetically, he also offered me free movie passes. As if that wasn't enough, he just followed up a few months later (imagine that!!) to see if I'd gone back (I declared I wouldn't and that was before gas prices had skyrocketed--why burn gas to go see a movie that isn't going to be shown?). In any case, he asked if I had been back and said he has visited himself (from CA) and things were different now. He also said he was sending more passes. This is a lovely gesture for a starving-artist-writer type like me, so Landmark Theaters is definitely in my good books.

And after this post, Busboys and Poets has also redeemed itself because my waitress offered to get me another entree when mine wasn't what either of us expected.

If customer service is dead or off sending a text message to a friend or whatever, it is up to us to shake it and bring it back to where it is supposed to be.

Yes, We Can

Here is a story that I do not have to dramatize or dress up:

Last Friday night I was in a restaurant enjoying dinner with six other black women, when we were unexpectedly interrupted. A rather tipsy white man came up to the table and said, "I just want to tell you all one thing: Obama rocks." One of our party, put her fists in the air rather ironically and said, "Yes we can!" He joined her and repeated this as he walked away.

At least he did not attempt a fist-bump.

And, as always, any few words remind me of song...so press play below to hear/see the Pointer Sisters non-ironic rendition of "Yes, We Can Can" (Thanks YouTube.)

Flying Free (Except in some parts of DC)

No, this isn't about airline discounts (although even I kinda wish that it was). The planes you see are part of Crystal City's public arts project in NoVa (Northern VA). Businesses sponsored the planes and local artists painted and decorated them. All of this is in an effort to get more people to visit an downtown-type area that was well-planned, but seems to be empty a lot of the time.

As we freely roamed around marveling at the planes, I thought about how different the area is from where I live.

Just yesterday there was (much needed) uproar over the DC police chief's plan to institute checkpoints in violent neighborhoods. Although I do not live in the neighborhood with the honor of being the first Neighborhood Safety Zone, I cannot help but be concerned about where this is headed.

I am free to come and go as I please, however. And that often means going to places where they are actively encouraging visitors.

The Glamorous Life

Not too long ago, I was interviewing for some contract work and the interviewer said, rather sheepishly, that to him my writing work sounded “glamorous.” Why would I want to do something so un-glamorous as contract work?

(Since a few words can trigger a song in my head, I went to YouTube and dug up the old Sheile E. video you see above.)

There is some glamour to writing, but a lot of it is as grueling as any other kind of work. In addition to being a striving creative genius, I am HR, PR, Marketing, Accounts Payable, Account Receivable, CEO, peon, janitor and cafeteria staff. But yeah, when I am driving somewhere and its not rush hour or sleeping late, rather than getting up at the crack of dawn after working really hard the day before, I do feel rather fortunate. I certainly don’t do it for the money (ha!). As a lifelong nerd, I really do love to go behind the scenes, get to the bottom of things, see how they tick and then find a way to explain that other people.

It is funny how when someone who is supposed to be “creative” mentions money they become a sellout of some sort. Writers should embrace some kind of chic poverty, rather than trying to pay bills and retire like everyone else. I just left a networking event where I agreed with someone about wanting to make more money and someone’s reaction was, “Oh, you’re a mercenary writer!” No one ever accuses middle managers, engineers or teachers of being mercenary when they talk about their desire to earn more. Few people work for free. Why should a writer be any different?

The Fantasy of Sex and the City

Yes, I joined the crowds that went to see the Sex and the City movie this past Friday. The movie and its stars have been everywhere. But it is funny that while the media is hyping them up, at the same time they keep asking if predominately female audience can propel a movie to the top. I was going with a group of women and I know plenty of others who are going en masse as well. I remember a similar phenomenon among black women when Waiting to Exhale hit movie theaters. Women keep the world going, so even if for some reason the first-weekend box office proceeds for SATC don't meet (likely inflated) expectations, there is no doubt that collectively women get the job done.

The lines were long, but thanks to a friend's organization, we got there in time to get good seats. The theater was filled with people. I saw women paying homage to the movie with fierce outfits (including a huge pink tutu) and cosmos. The picture you see above is my own homage-a flower that I put in my hair and the dress I wore.

Re: Jennifer Hudson's welcome, but also tacked-on character-We got into a little discussion of the BBF syndrome (read more about it in this article on theroot.com), and concluded that the magical black best friend who comes in and saves your life can really only works wonders if you are not black. As a black woman, you have to be your own BBF. In a twist on the usual self-sacrificing BBF, Jennifer Hudson actual had a little love story of her own.

Magical slippers, and Manolos aside, I don't think the movie or TV show sell the fantasy of a happily-ever-after with Prince Charming. Instead, it is a fantasy of female friendship: a beautiful world where your best girlfriends never leave your side, even if they move away. Sometimes the bonds of friendship are tested, as they are in the movie, but they are never broken.

There is a First Time for Everything

A friend commented on this post about how no one (including me) would answer woman on the bus to a Nats game. She said it reminded her of New York City where no one wants to talk to people on public transportation.

Well, today on the train, I sat down next to a woman who promptly welcomed me to my seat with a very cheery,"Good Morning." I responded in kind. But I have to say that this was a first.

Has it come to this?

Ok, while I'm busy writing about text messaging, my brain has been busy forgetting how to engage in old school methods of communication. I sat down to type a letter and for a brief moment panicked because I couldn't remember which address (sender/recipient) went where. Then I remembered.

But the internet is there to help. In case you've forgotten too,
here's a visual.

A Tale of Two Texts

Yesterday, while eating breakfast after church, I was greeted by a young person who cheerfully told me the harrowing tale of how she almost got caught texting in church. I cannot even begin to recall the ins and outs of all this--

she got a text message so the phone lit up or beeped or whatever, then she answered the message, but by then her grandmother had noticed so she tried to put the phone under her leg somehow, solemnly telling grandma that she was not on the phone in church, but then the phone fell and some other boy in church noticed or tried to pick it up or something (he was sitting nearby to corroborate this story).

Or something like that.

I listened and asked her why she answered the text message. I also suggested that turning the phone off before service would alleviate all of this.

"Is YOUR phone off?" she challenged me. I told it had been until service ended and I stepped outside before coming back in for breakfast.

I don't know if she believed me. But I can see why she was doubtful. After all, I saw the woman next to me was doing something on her phone during service.

In my day, we passed notes. The evidence was immediately visible, but the notes made less noise.

A Little Whoopi in the Streets

"All Who Wander Are Not Lost"

That was on a magnet at the home of someone I visited recently and it is very true.

After picking up tickets for the Shakespeare Free for All, I wandered across the street into a celebration of the season opener for the Washington Mystics (DC's WNBA team). They'd borrowed the Whoopi figure from the nearby Madame Tussaud's House of Wax.

Then I wandered over to the National Portrait Gallery to check out some of my favorites and to see more of the museum because one never can quite see it all. After checking in on Recognize! Hip Hop and Contemporary Portraiture (yes, LL is still there :-), I wandered over to see Ballyhoo! Posters as Portraiture.

The Power of Suggestion: Bouquet of Beef Jerky

When I was in school, they always made a big deal about brainstorming. So much in fact that I dreaded hearing that very word. Some teacher would get out an easel, a marker and a big sheet of paper and we were supposed to just shout out ideas about some topic or another. But now I really see the value of it. Some of my best ideas come at random. And it seems like people really listen more to my half-baked notions than to the ones that are well thought out.

Case in point: the bouquet of beef jerky pictured above. A beef jerky-loving friend of mine was performing in a concert and as a joke I suggested to some other friends that we give him said bouquet. I was not serious, and yet if you look closely, you can see that there really is beef jerky in that bouquet. Someone else suggested Spam flowers, to honor this friend's other culinary favorite, but alas those still remain a dream.

Thanks to C.L. for making it happen and to M.Y. for taking a picture of it.

Just Give Up Now

The news was on while I was visiting a friend yesterday and they did a "special report" on why staying home for Memorial Day Weekend might not save you any money.

It seems that staying home to save money on gas or to avoid paying extra airline fees to check your luggage, fasten your seatbelt, or breathe the air on the plane will not be enough to avoid impending doom. Why, you may ask?

Grocery prices have gone up. So even if you stay home, you'll be paying extra for hamburger meat and hot dog buns. Experts, including the all important "expert with a British accent" were trotted out to confirm the futility of even attempting to have fun or live a little this upcoming holiday weekend. Prices have indeed gone up, including the prices of certain items that they noted had increased 1% since last year.

So, if the hamburger is going to set you back so much that it will be like filling up your car's gas tank, you might as well get in your car and drive to someone else's house...and eat their hamburgers.

Prince Caspian

I went to the movies yesterday to Prince Caspian and felt rather curmudgeonly as I noted that the matinee price was the evening movie price a few years ago. No one I was with was surprised, so that shows how often I go to the movies. However, I'm sure you have also shake your head and your cane at the sight of rising prices. I had money left on a movie theater gift card, so while I noted the high price, I didn't actually pay that price.

Although I've read all of the books in the Chronicles of Narnia series, I didn't exactly remember the plot of Prince Caspian. I'm nerdy enough to read up on something before seeing it, but I didn't have time for all that. So I went in unprepared and found that the story was familiar. Either I pulled it from some deep part of my memory or I liked it enough so that it seemed familiar.

One could dissect that movie in so many ways...

It is interesting how we often only see adventures as belonging to another time or place. After leaving wartime England for Narnia, the four Pevensie children have to change into their medieval gear before their adventures can really begin. At least one of them was going to battle in the regular world. When he gets to Narnia he has to fight as well, only in Narnia he is leading troops. There is a certain nobility to fighting for a great cause as opposed to say, fighting bullies for the sake of pride. But in the end, there was fighting in all realms, mythical or not.

Still, swords and castles and such do seem much more thrilling than the fight to get home on the beltway or dodging the slings and arrows of corporate fortune to get a paycheck.

Where's the Beef?

I had a few choice topics in mind for a blog for today. But my digital camera ate a few pictures I'd taken (which could be a blog post in itself), so I was left pondering what to write about.

Well, I just got an e-mail that blew all of those other possible blog topics right outta the water.

I HAVE BEEN INVITED TO JUDGE A MEATLOAF CONTEST!

Yup, that's right. I knew if I kept at it, they'd be coming to me. A restaurant I wrote about maybe a year ago has requested my presence at a contest to decide who fires up the best mound of meat. The contest isn't until October, so you'll have to stay tuned for all of the exciting developments.

Message in a Bottle

Stuff I Saw Yesterday

I spy with my little eye...

A) A 12 or 13-year-old boy with a flower cut into his head. Not only was this flower cut into his head, but it was also dyed--green stem/leaves and red petals. (I so wish I could provide a visual of this, but I can't get involved with taking photos of minors on the street. Believe me, it was a sight to see. The green was bright and the red was poppin'.)

B) A woman on the Metro with a bag depicting this scene:
Complimenting Cartoon Woman: "I love your bag!"
Cussing Cartoon Woman: "Get your own bag, B$%^h!

An Exciting Account of Things Overheard on the Way to a Nats Game

As I mentioned in the previous post, the other day I went to a Nats game on the shuttle because Metro was experiencing serious delays since they were working on the tracks for the Yellow and Green Lines.

Part 1: Referring to Capitol Hill and the newness of the Green Line
On the shuttle a woman sitting in aisle seat near me (I was sitting next to a window) kept asking, "Is this Capitol Hill?" No one bothered to answer her while we were actually in Capitol Hill. When she did get an answer, we had left Capitol Hill.

The woman next to me started to talk to her and they discussed why they were on the shuttle (again, the track work), and the Capitol Hill-seeker asked, " Is the Green Line new?" At this point I joined in to assure her, that no, the Green Line was not new.

Part 2:Referring to lumping people together, the African Diaspora and things you cannot assume
Lost in thought, I exited the bus and followed the herd towards what I hoped would be the Nats new stadium. (It was hard to tell because at first, it was not in sight). My thoughts were disturbed when I picked up fragments of a conversation between two men, "Black people...They could be from Trinidad or Tobago, Guatemala...even England. You can't assume...they don't want to be lumped in the same category..."

No Peanuts, No Cracker Jacks

This past weekend, I finally went to a game at the new Nats stadium. I'd written a little about it (Root, Root, Root for Three Home Teams), and driven past it, but hadn't actually been inside.

It is a great improvement on RFK. As I approached the Center Field Gate, I heard someone comment that that particular entrance looked like you were walking into a movie theater. I don't know that it has movie theater feel. The entrance does give you a neighborhood ballpark feel, even though most of that attendees probably don't live in the neighborhood.

I don't live very far away, but I chose to trek to RFK and take a shuttle because Metro picked that day to do track work. They warned that people could expect 45 minute delays, so it didn't seem worth it to take the train.

Because a friend's company picked up the tab for the tickets, I decided to make it a true ballpark experience and buy some overpriced food. This didn't happen though because all of the credit/debit card machines in the entire park were down. I was given the option of going to the ATM, but after I saw the food, I thought I'd be better off without it.

Speaking of amenities...they have a playground and their own Build-A-Bear workshop, if you're into that sort of thing.

p.s. I just looked up the score (we left during the 7th or 8th inning): The Marlins beat the Nats 11-0. It was was 10-0 when before I departed. I'd hoped that the Nats would get rid of that goose egg, but it seems they did not.

Where the Tall Grass Grows

There are a lot of things you don't notice...unless they go haywire.

My mother used to say something about how if a man gets a really good haircut you won't be able to tell. It took a minute (well more than a minute) for this to sink in: the implication is that if you are maintaining something it will look good continuously. However, this seemed more like an ideal than something people really put into practice. I was able to tell when most men (even my father) got a haircut.

I thought of this today as I was driving down a street I travel occasionally because the grass on the median was growing wild. It was taller than a small child and looked very unkempt in comparison to the neatly cut lawns on either side of the street.

Someone was not on their job because my drive down this street would have been unremarkable otherwise. And it made me think how unaware we all are of the behind the scenes work that is done to keep things going.

Unaccustomed Earth (in more ways than one)

So I'm reading Unaccustomed Earth by Jhumpa Lahiri (great book by the way, every time I pick it up I don't want to put it down) and reading some of the accompanying press that is generated when an author has a new book out...and I am wondering why the media has decided to doggedly pursue the same line of questioning with regards to her writing.

Everyone either asks or refers to other people asking her why she only writes about immigrants from India and their children...as if there is something wrong with that. She is the child of Indian immigrants. And to be fair, her characters are Indian, Indian American and Caucasian, so there is some variety.

No one asks African-American authors why they mainly write about black people. They don't even ask Amy Tan why she keeps writing about immigrants from China. And no one ever asks white authors why most of their characters are white.

But there are a different set of expectations for "minorities" and within that perilous category of minorities, there are different expectations for different minorities.

Ballin'...for Books

A little while back, I ran into a fellow WNBA member at a networking party. The two of us were talking to a gentleman there who asked, "Is that[the WNBA] like the Jane Austen Book Club?"

So cute, aren't they, these men? At least he didn't assume we were basketball players, as someone else did when I ran into that very same WNBA member at a different networking event (oh how the world keeps shrinking). For the record, The WNBA is the Women's National Book Association.

The WNBA is more about writing than it is about reading, although we do promote literacy and sometimes discuss books. It is an org for authors and aspiring authors to network, talk shop, learn about publishing and socialize.

And it is now official, I am on the Board of the DC Chapter, as an "at-large" member. Yesterday was my first, official board meeting. At the moment, I am enjoying the fuzzy, undefined nature of being an "at-large" member.

How did I manage to win such a post? Oh, I really cannot divulge inside organizational secrets. I will say that there were no black pansuits, bad bowling techniques or hanging chads involved.

Country Road, Take Me Home

When I mentioned to a few people that I was going to West Virginia on a retreat with a mentoring program, the reactions were, for the most part, what I expected: Why would you want to go there? and Be careful. As was the case with visiting Richmond, I just like going to places I've never been. If they are tropical and exciting, all the better. If not, it is still good to set eyes on unfamiliar territory. I was only going overnight, it is not like I was doing a foreign exchange program there.

One person, however, did suggest that there was a danger of falling prey to cannibals. This I did not expect. So W. Va. doesn't have a stellar rep, but cannibals? Jeffrey Dahmer wasn't from W. Va and that didn't stop him. I was certain that W. Va was full of fine folks. Although I probably would have reversed that opinion if I'd discovered that one of my fellow humans had attempted to make a meal out of me.

Since I only got a glimpse of W. Va., I cannot write a traveler's guide (but this post is illustrated with a lovely picture that I took). I will say that moments after seeing a Confederate flag license plate got us a little down, seeing an Obama '08 sign lifted our spirits.

I could write many volumes on what a great experience mentoring is. But I'll spare you all that and share one thing. I was intrigued to find out that Tinkerbell (aka Tink) is popular with pre-teen and teenage girls. Something about how she is the only Disney heroine who is sassy and independent. The Tink and Tinkerbell t-shirts I saw attest to the fact that they did not come up with this notion on their own, so the resurgence of Tink's popularity is just an offshoot of the corporate Disney Princess machine. She was once a Disney Princess, but is now the star of the Disney Fairies franchise.

Recognize!: Hip Hop Gets (some of) Its Due

Getting to the National Portrait Gallery to see Recognize! Hip Hop and Contemporary Portraiture has been on my to-do list for a while now. The exhibit ends in October, so of course I've been telling myself that I have plenty of time to see it. This is true, but I hate to have to try and rush there on the last day because I kept waiting. I was there for the final weekend of the Edward Hopper exhibit at National Gallery of Art. The crowds made it hard to enjoy, but I just went for a second look because I'd already visited the exhibit when it wasn't elbow-to-elbow.

But I digress...back to the Hip Hop exhibit.It combined painting, photos, graffiti and the poetry of Nikki Giovanni. It sounds like a lot, but they managed to put it together so it makes sense and it does not take a long time to go through the exhibit.

Some of the paintings (done by Kehinde Wiley) were commissioned for VH1's Hip Hop Honors show and I have to say the paintings are what impressed me most. I was glad to see them being "re-purposed" and displayed in a venue like the Smithsonian. Rap artists were depicted in grand portraits that drew inspiration from older artwork. Ice T was shown in a pose similar to one that Napoleon struck in a portrait and LL Cool J chose to be portrayed in a style taken from a painting of Rockefeller. The painter gave the artists their own crests.

I read about some grumblings about the propriety of including an exhibit showing rap artists at the National Portrait Gallery, and that is to be expected. I'll stop here to allude to my fellow blogger Mary at StellarSelf. She admitted that she avoided the Portrait Gallery because it seemed like it would be boring and she was convinced to go after the museum let Stephen Colbert display his portrait there.

To stay alive and keep going, museums have to make an effort to attract new audiences. The Colbert portrait brought in tons of irregular museum-goers. (I know because they were all crowding near the bathrooms (where Colbert's portrait was placed) with cell phone cameras trying to capture their museum moment with Colbert.) After being drawn in by Colbert or LL Cool J, someone who ordinarily wouldn't go to a museum may wander a little and find more to their liking.

If you're in DC, go see it! It's at the Gallery Place/Chinatown metro stop. If you're not in DC, go to the exhibit website, and check it out. If you're in DC and can't be bothered to go, then you too have my permission to visit the exhibit website.

Special thanks to Mary for letting me "borrow" the picture she took of the LL Cool J portrait in the exhibit guidebook. Good idea. Since I didn't think of it, I am glad to know someone who did.

Do You See a Resemblance?

The National Portrait Gallery has a large painting of the much lauded mezzo soprano Denyce Graves. In reference to her portrait, I overheard one museum patron ask another, "She looks like Jordin Sparks. Who is that?"

Well, they are both singers...perhaps Denyce Graves would be flattered to know that someone mistook her for a singer who is decades younger.

Domestic Violence

Bianca, I hardly knew you, but I'll never forget you.

Rest in peace.

The Kindest Cut

A magazine in a waiting area promised hundreds of the best beauty solutions on its cover and I took the bait.

Flipping through, I realized that all of its "solutions" involved knives and lasers, as it was basically a plastic surgery magazine wrapped in the package of the regular mags that tell us how to fix our problems/ourselves.

Dinner of Champions

Scrambled eggs and tea.

Sad, I know, but it is late and I don't need a heavy meal.

Yesterday, I came home without shopping and fell asleep because I intended to go back out again. But it was raining buckets and my plans were canceled.

Earlier today I was near a Whole Foods, so I went in and enjoyed the free samples, but I didn't want to get groceries there because I can get more somewhere else than I'd get at "Whole Paycheck."

Then on the way home it was raining buckets again and I figured I had something I could eat.

As I scrambled the eggs, I remembered that I had the stuff to make my favorite variation of gallo pinto, which consists of (you guessed it) gallo pinto with scrambled eggs. But by then the eggs were done and I wanted to eat.

Usually, I would not let some drops of water deter me. And usually, I'd have planned and shopped for the week...but hey, sometimes ya gotta break the mold.

Back to Basics

I am part of a mentoring program and during a group discussion, one of the mentees was starting to make a point and asked in all earnestness, "Is France in America?"

Fortunately, a few in the group indicated that it was not without anyone making a big deal about it.

Richmond: Through the Looking Glass

I went to Richmond for the first time this past weekend, and although my friends there seemed puzzled by my interest in it, I enjoyed my visit. Like many other cities, such as my own adopted home of DC, Richmond is working to build up previously neglected/undeveloped areas. No, it isn't exotic, but it is somewhere I hadn't been before, so that made it interesting.

Actually, I take that back, Richmond is a little like walking through the looking glass because some things there are definitely a little topsy-turvy.

Take the swanky Arby's, for example. I thought of Arby's as a dying breed, but in Richmond there is an Arby's housed in a rather elegant building (for an Arby's anyway). Rumor has it that there is a piano bar in there and people go there to lounge. I only rode past the Arby's and heard the tales, so I am sorry to say that cannot confirm this.

Late at night, I rode past a club that looked like any other club: people were lined up outside dressed in club-going attire. Some young ladies were out there dropping it like it was hot, obviously practicing for a hedonistic night at the...Have a Nice Day Café. Yes, that was the name of the club. Complete with smiley face. I could not have imagined a more incongruent name for a club.

So there you have it. They do it different in Richmond. Ritzy roast beef and a club that wishes you well.

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.

Baby Mama

I got a free pass to this movie and though at first I was uninterested, something made me take advantage of the offer. It was smarter (and longer) than I thought. And while there were some stereotypes thrown around, it was entertaining.

As much as I'd like to deny that by their late 30s many career women who followed the rules, put up with a lot of crap, and climbed up the ladder, find themselves more than a little baby crazy, I know this is quite true. So while the main character seemed like a stock character at times, her story still rings true.

It also had elements of the typical Odd Couple narrative: one straitlaced, neat and fussy person vs. one wild, crazy and undisciplined person.

I think because it was written by a woman, there were a lot of nuances and small details that I think a male writer would leave out and that made it more appealing.

With all of the baby mix-ups and false pretenses, I guess it is a Look Who's Talking for this millennium.

Then again, the baby didn't talk, so maybe not...

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."

Tag, You're It!

Last week, I was tagged by Mary at StellarSelf. And yes, if you read her post, you’ll see that I have happily borrowed plenty from it. But isn’t that what the best (or at least the most efficient) writers do—borrow something and make it their own?

This is a much savvier take on all those e-mails people used to send answering a list of questions and then instructing someone else to answer the same questions and send the answers to you and others.

I think you’ll find the people I’ve tagged are an eclectic mix—some formal, some a little more personal, but you’ll learn something from each one.

How This Tag Works:
Link to your tagger and post these rules on your blog.
Share seven facts about yourself on your blog, some random, some weird.
Tag seven people* at the end of your post by leaving their names as well as links to their blogs.
Let them know they are tagged by leaving a comment on their blog.

Note: As always when I pass along these memes**, there is no pressure for those of you whom I have tagged to respond. I will not be offended if you do not perpetuate the tag. My main purpose in tagging those whom I've chosen is to bring attention to some wonderful blogging talent!

Seven Scintillating Facts About Me:
1. I love alliteration
2. I’ve kicked the sugar habit (well, in my tea, anyway)
3. I’m fluent in Spanish
4. I once lost my glasses in Lake Erie
5. I’m crazy about classic British literature
6. Like Mary, I longed for an older brother (but unlike Mary, I didn’t ask for one)
7. I make a mean bread pudding

Seven People That I Am Tagging:
1. Quinn @ queue
2. Liz @ Missing the Point
3. Olga @ Cooking-Shopping-Crafts-Etc.
4. Nancy @ Web World Watch
5. Jennifer @ 8junebugs
6. Scott @ Exif: A Photoblog

*Yes, I know there are seven facts and six people. Sometimes ya gotta break the rules.

**I am not ashamed to say I had to look this up. Merriam-Webster says a meme is “an idea, behavior, style, or usage that spreads from person to person within a culture.”

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.

Marjane Satrapi

Last night I went to hear Marjane Satrapi speak and I have to agree with the gaggle of college students who stood behind be in the line to books signed: she is amazing.

She wrote the book Persepolis and the Academy-award nominated film based on the book, as well as Chicken with Plums and Embroideries. In these books, a girl from a secular Iranian family comes of age and comes to grip with the consequences of the suppression of freedoms in Iran. The books are literature and works of art and the movie does a great job of capturing the books, with a soundtrack that really punctuates the story's themes.

Apparently Satrapi is not a fan of the term "graphic novel" (this is how her books are categorized). She thinks is was invented by publishers to make people feel better about reading comic books. Although she does admit to understanding why people view comic books as something for children because she once held that view herself.

She is just as clever, sly, entertaining and thought-provoking as her work. I wish I could have recorded her talk or at least stopped being enthralled enough to write down some of her quips and commentary. Oh well.

The only quip I can remember was not from her, but from one of the girls in line. One said, "Oh, she'd so cute. She's really pretty." And another, not sounding mean or as if she intended to insult Satrapi said, "You're just saying that because she wrote four books."

Can I Buy a Vowel?

Suddenly and without warning, the cap for the U key spring-vaulted itself away from the rest of its alphabet brethren and sistren.

I've now made some adjustments, but for a minute I contemplated life sans U.

It was nbearable.

Gmail Helps You Get Over

I'm certain the real techies already knew that Gmail's latest innovation was coming, but for plebes like me, this was news: Gmail now lets you customize the time stamp on an e-mail.

As a ghost blogger, I have made use of this tool on other blogs. (Not for this one though. Dear reader, have no fear, the time stamps on these blogs are all authentic :-)

Big deal, so you can customize the time stamp, so what? Well, it does matter. As our Google-y friends tell us, you can make it seem like you didn't forget birthdays and anniversaries because you can always set the time for your e-mail in the past.

E-mail isn't perfect. I've had someone send me an e-mail and have it arrive the next day for reasons neither one of us can understand.

And how does this change work-related e-mails? I'm a freelance writer and I send in assignments using Gmail. I guess you can say you made a deadline when you send it in late...although I'm sure there is some way to find out when it was really sent. But who is going to do that much investigation? You can always say that your e-mail got stuck in traffic.

It's Back to the Future, people. "Roads? Where we're going, we don't need...roads."

p.s. You only get 10 per year, so you'll have to be scrupulously honest, except for those 10 times...
p.p.s. I kinda thought this might be an April Fool's joke, and apparently it was.

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?

Bottom of the Ninth

Well, not quite, but it was late and I wanted to get home when I stopped for a newspaper. Since I don't get the paper delivered anymore, I only buy the Sunday paper and read the rest online.

Today I was out and about all day and felt it would be foolish to get a paper that I probably wouldn't have time to read today nor during the upcoming week. Still, something told me to get a paper, knowing I'd have little time to read it.

As it turns out, an article I wrote that was slated for the following week ran today.

Ah, the wisdom of listening to that little God-given voice, even when it seems like human reason should drown it out.

Root, Root, Root for Three Home Teams

Know Your Worth

A local DJ was offering $5000 to any listener who could get ex-Gov's Spitzer's friend "Kristen" to call his show before it ended.

Um...anyone who could do that would:

a) probably not need $5000

b) know that being able to provide that service is worth a lot more than $5000

Work/Life Balance

Today I turned in a baseball-related article and today someone threw me a curveball.

It all evens out in the end.

Enter Ye Through the Narrow Gate

Or maybe not...

I just looked out of the window to see two little boys attempting to squeeze through the bars of an iron fence. When that didn't work, they just ran in through the open gate.

Officespeak 101 or the "Me" in Meeting
In which our heroine learns the lingo

If someone tells you that "an electronic production meeting has been sent" that means that they have sent you an e-mail with instructions.

He Said/She Said

I recently had to consult with a business owner and her son for a article I wrote recently. Because I spoke with them separately, I got very different accounts...

Business Name
He said:
Inspired by outdoor facility
She said:
Inspired by God


Family Business History
He said:
Uncle had farm
She said:
Father and grandparents had restaurants