A Clothes Encounter—Of the Rude Kind

In which Inotherwordz exchanges harsh words and gets kicked out

Consignment shops are doing well these days. I’ve always been on to frequent these places, but I gather that lately, they’ve seen new customers who had considered them to be an option before.

I called one such shop, Clothes Encounters of A Second Kind, to ask if I could bring clothes in for consignment. I was told that they were getting full, but that I was free to come by any time. Granted, a busy Saturday morning is not the best time to go anywhere, but anytime means any time. So I didn’t expect to be greeted so rudely and eventually kicked out of.

As soon as I walked in the proprietress, greeted me with these words, “Oh, God, not another one.” To give this a generous context, I will say that she meant that I was yet another person coming in with clothes for consignment. I was instructed to go over to the side and wait while she schmoozed with people who indentified themselves as “good customers.” Fair enough. There were people there ahead of me. Yet, my back was already up because as they say, the bulk of communication is non-verbal. In word, gesture and tone she communicated that she did not want me there.

So here is the lesson: if you are not wanted and are in a position to leave, do so. Why stick around for more abuse? But I am stubborn, so I stayed and stewed, thinking that I would tell her that I understood she was busy and frazzled, but she might want to be kinder to customers.

When she was ready to attend me, she asked if I’d been there before and I hadn’t. I dutifully provided her with my basic information. Again, she mentioned just how very full the shop was getting. I was given to option to have clothes donated if they didn’t sell, and I took this option, so I was essentially saying goodbye to those clothes forever.

I gave her a phone number and when she asked for alternates, I said I had none. In modern life, all of our information is spread everywhere, so it seems pointless to even try to contain it, but I do. I get tired of having to give every story, office or whatever I enter every single piece of identifying information there is. One working phone number should suffice.

“If you move, we will have no way of contacting you.” Sure, life is full of surprises, but the clothes stay on consignment for, I think, 60 days and I had no plans to move. While I’m sure a consignment shop gets stuck with a lot of clothes, the fact that I’d chosen the donation option meant that if mine didn’t sell, they were free to give them the heave-ho.

“Well, I’ll try not to move then,” I said with a smile. This was a very lame attempt at humor on my part. Instead of breaking the tension, all hell broke loose. She had been looking for a way to get rid of me and she’d apparently found it.

“Do you really want to consign here?” she asked angrily. The truth is she didn’t want me to be there, but she was going to flip her disdain and make it my fault.

“Yes,” I said. “I don’t understand why you were so rude…”

“Get out,” she said.

The ensuing conversation got heated. I attempted to complete my statement and she told me no, she would not listen to me and to get out. It got ugly and as I said, all of this took place on a busy Saturday morning. Since Clothes Encounters of A Second Kind is at 202 7th Street SE, it is right near Eastern Market, and there were plenty of customers there to witness this exchange. Not that having witnesses around ever makes people reconsider their behavior.

I will admit that there were some rather unkind thoughts running through my head after this, but one really doesn’t have to wish misfortune on some people. Doing well is more than even to do them in.

Project Meatloaf

If someone had ever told me that I'd be judging a meatloaf contest, I'd have told them they were crazy. But hey, we all end up doing things that a) we never said we'd do of b)are so out if the realm of our thinking we can't even imagine them.

So yeah, I was asked to judge a meatloaf contest by a restaurant that I once reviewed for the Prince George's County Gazette. If that is where my "celebrity" takes me, then I'll go.

Celebrate National Meatloaf Awareness Day at the New Deal Café

Identify Yourself

Today I overheard a woman on a cell phone saying, "Hi, this is R_______, Marquise' Baby Mother, and...

They're Bringing Sexy Back

In case you didn't know, savings and fiscal responsibility is sexy...and when I woke up this morning one retailer was on the radio wishing me a Merry October and telling me I could put stuff on layaway for Christmas.

Remember layaway? I thought it was all but gone, however it seems that you could have put things on layaway at Wal-Mart up until 2006. In case you didn't click on the preceding hyperlink, it referred to a Washington Post article which stated that at that time: living within your means is becoming an outdated concept in today's buy-now-pay-later culture.

Styles change quickly, so the budgeting that was outdated in 2006, is back with a vengeance in 2008. Let's hope it now obtains classic status, as something you'll want for every season.

I don't have plans to put anything on layaway, but I really do need to get a little sexier when it comes to savings.

P.S. If you want more serious insight into our economy, check out economistmom.com- “where analytical rigor meets a mother’s intuition.”

BlogHer DC 2008

As I wrote in my previous post, there were definitely some goodies to be had at the BlogHer DC conference, like slippers, a cute little portable mouse for my laptop, and a laser pointer. But really these conferences are about knowledge and making connections.

If I had one big takeaway from the BlogHer DC conference, it was that authenticity is key. Authenticity and good content are Even when panelists had differing opinions on methods, techniques and formats, they all in some way advised bloggers to be true to themselves.

I thought about this when I overheard someone at the closing cocktail reception say that he was going to get his site all spruced up with bells and whistles. He reasoned that if it looked good people would come, even if he didn't put so much time into the content. Sure they'll come, but will they stay? And will they ever return?

At a bare minimum, a blogger needs to identify themselves somehow--with a picture, a graphic or a tagline--and give readers some method for contacting the blog's author.

You also need to spread the link love, meaning you gotta include hyperlinks to the cool stuff you mention and link to the cool bloggers you read. I definitely have to do more of the latter, but here is some of the former. I got great tips on some online tools to put method to my madness:

rescuetime.com--Analyzes your internet usage each day. You can set alarms to help you limit time on certain applications (Facebook!!).

yoono.com--Links you into your Twitter, Facebook and IM accounts on one page.

Zotero.org--This is a good tool for aggregating research, as their tagline says: 'research, not re-search.'


digsby.com--A tool for organizing and aggregating your e-mail accounts and social networking applications.


springpadit.com--This set of online notebooks wants to help you get organized one project at a time. It's still in beta, so you have get a code, but look for it to launch.

alertbox.com--This usability guru's site isn't cute, but it doesn't have to be because he has the inside scoop.

Besides learning about these super-useful online tools, I also learned that the Chinese have a word for the first person to leave a comment on a blog/article and that people are having virtual baby/wedding showers where they present to stories to the guest of honor.

Who knew?

This post would be 1000x more compelling if it was accompanied by pictorial evidence. I had such evidence, but it seems my camera has been stolen. I hope it turns up, but in the meantime, here goes:

The BlogHer DC Bathroom Brigade

Any time I go to some event and stand in the line for the women's bathroom that inevitably snakes around a corner while the man's bathroom remains unoccupied, the conversation about who designs buildings and 'why don't we just use the men's bathroom' commences. And only sometimes does anyone really take action.

Well at the BlogHer '08 Reach Out Tour in DC, some of us stormed the castle, or the commodes, shall we say. Since the conference was at a rather nice hotel, the men's bathroom was not at all scary and they had the same fresh flowers that the women's bathroom had. Perhaps knowing that we'd pick up on secrets such as this this is why men live in fear of women's empowerment...

In any case, the conference gave us a lot more that secret bathroom knowledge. We also got great swag like slippers, notepads and reusable bags.

Ok, in all seriousness, it was a great conference and I'll be back later in the day with more about stuff I actually learned. (And hopefully my camera will show up as well.)

That Chicken You See Running Around With No Head--Yeah That's Me

I'll be at the BlogHer 2008 Conference all day today. I wish I could tell I was doing something brilliant like Twittering the conference or something. But I'll be taking notes the old-fashioned way.

Then I'll be dashing over the the Washington Post to hear children's book legends Mem Fox and Helen Oxenbury because a) I want to hear them speak and b) I am on the board of he WNBA-DC Chapter and we are co-sponsoring the event.

But hey, there are many days when I just watch the tumbleweed roll by.

Arugula is Alright with Me

Someone with a surplus of arugula brought some into the office to share. If I've had it before, I don't remember. I do remember all the fuss about Barack Obama being some arugula-loving elitist.

After the first bite, I wondered how something so bitter could be considered the province of the elite, but then it grew on me.

"That's how I do my thing!"

I managed to check out two events on the last day of the Duke Ellington Jazz Festival and found that these events had plenty in common: entertainment, a little education and calls for audience participation.

At the THEARC in Southeast DC, Nasar Abadey's Legazy Band, which includes his teenage son, gave some youngsters a lesson in jazz basics. He found a way to bring improvisation home to kids, telling them that it is similar to performing freestyle.

The band demonstrated improvisation with a scatted-up version of The Flintstones theme song. Abadey then called a few volunteers onstage to show their skills. Interestingly enough, the first few were handed a microphone, but they chose not use it very much. I thought they would all start to rap, but they most just danced (quite well I might add). Although one kid did exclaim the words in the title of this post upon finishing. Abadey then prompted the next volunteers to rap.

The festival's final performance featured Paquito D'Rivera, the festival's musical director with a cohort of very skilled musicians, many of whom hail from Latin America. One of them, Edmar Castañeda of Columbia, did absolutely impossible things with a harp.

In between selections, D'Rivera gave the audience insight into the value of instruments like the bandoneón. He also treated the audience to tales of jazz legends, including sharing a story about how Dizzy Gillespie once arrived at a South American club dressed as a gaucho and riding a horse.

There was also swag: attendees were treated to a souvenir program booklet that came with a free cd.

David Sedaris
My first experience with author David Sedaris almost got me killed.

I got one of his audio books from the libary, unaware of what I was in for. I thought it would be mildly amusing, but instead it was unbelievably hilarious. So much so that when I listened to it in the car, I was laughing so hard, I nearly ran a stop sign.

Sedaris isn't for everyone, of course, but if you aren't offended by his offbeat worldview and sometimes less than pc offerings, it is a treat to hear him read his work.

When I got an e-mail saying that someone I knew had an extra ticket to go hear David Sedaris speak, I jumped at the chance. Sedaris, who lives abroad, was here to promote his latest essay collection, When You are Engulfed in Flames.

As usual, Mr. Sedaris was laugh aloud funny. He is in the habit of paying someone at a book signing prior to a speaking engagement to introduce him. When a young woman who looked a little nervous approached the microphone, I thought she might have been university staff, but no, she was a student. Sedaris had offered her $10 to bring him out and for someone who hadn't planned to speak before a capacity crowd, she did a good job.

Book tours are all about promotion and he read a funny piece that The New Yorker had asked him to write about being on a book tour. But Sedaris doesn't just use him speaking engagements to promote himself. He also mentions, holds up and reads from the work of another author he admires. He read from The Braindead Megaphone by George Saunders. This kind of promotion was good to see because not everyone is quite so generous.

Free Speech?

There is a memo on the bulletin board of the non-profit where I am working at the moment instructing employees to restrict their political discourse. They were asked not to flaunt their political views on websites where they identify themselves as employees of the non-profit. They were also asked not to post any political cartoons or things of that nature in the office since these things might make someone else uncomfortable and muddy the non-profit's non-partisan reputation.

All day I sat near someone who engaged everyone who passed by in conversation about politics. This person called several people, asking them to come by and see a satirical political cartoon.

Despite the edict and the attempt to stick to the non-profit's promise of being non-partisanship, the employees can't help themselves. And I don't blame them. Although I've always been conscientious and voted, I have to say that I have never been on to actually watch any pre-election debates. And the people I spoke with, friends, neighbors and colleagues spent the whole day on the edge of their seats in anticipation of watching tonight's vice presidential debate.

In the words of Sara Palin: Let's ramp it up! Now doggone it, it's time to move forward!

Botox Bailout!

Yes, that was on an ad that was screaming at me from the the back page of a newspaper.

You knew it was coming...someone has to profit from this bailout debacle...it might as well be the purveyors of a beauty-enhancing toxin.

Because, hey, if the financial crisis is all too real for you, then you will need to smooth out those wrinkles you got from all that frowning.

I Wanted a Cut and Color and All I Got Was This Lousy Story

This fifth time is the charm (or so I hope). Yes, I know that the saying really only refers to the third time, but since I will embark on my fifth attempt to get my hair done this week, I am banking on number 4.

When I was telling a friend about my third (or was it the fourth?) attempt she responded: It's funny how some people think the president has all the power. When it comes to black women it's the hairdressers. Truer words were never spoken.

Because I didn't want to part with my hard-earned money for lackluster service, I've had to roll out of several hairstyling establishments.

Sleeping Beauty
#1 was a salon that came recommended. I walked in and there was someone slumped over the reception desk, sleeping. After barely being acknowledged and spending 20 minutes listening to an in-depth analysis of P. Diddy's umpteenth installment of Making the Band, I left. When I went to introduce myself to my would-be stylist to tell her I was leaving she said, "You can't wait?"

Got the Message?
#2 was a salon that I didn't actually visit. I spent a week or so just trying to get the required initial consultation scheduled. I called and then had to wait for someone to call me back to get my info so they could leave a message for a stylist who would call me to schedule my this mandatory consultation. After consulting with them, I would then be given the privilege of making an actual appointment to get my hair done. The stylist took days to call me back, and since I wasn't home, left me a message. When I called her back and left her a message, she didn't return my call. When I called the salon, they said I should call the DC location. "But I did call the DC number," I countered. "Oh, well they have routed their calls here to Silver Spring."

I Can't Stand the Rain
#3 was a salon I'd been to before. The failure of this attempt was my fault. If I'd given myself enough driving time to make allowance for the fact that no one wants to drive above 30 mph when it rains in DC, I might have made it to my appointment. The extra 20 minutes I'd added wasn't enough to offset the rain and the wrong turn I made. When I called from the road, they said I might very far away and that I might was well not show up.

Color Me Gone
#4 was the salon where the stylist greeted me at the door by saying that her shop had recently been robbed. She handed me a box and told me to go to the beauty supply store next door to pick up hair color made by the same brand as the box she'd given me. It is common for people to buy bring hair with them for braids and weaves, but this was unusual. When we'd discussed the appointment over the phone, the stylist failed to mention that hair color was an a la carte item.

And so, my hair remains uncut and uncolored. For now...

National Singles Week: No Strings Attached

Apparently this past week (Sept. 21-27) was National Singles Week. It is also known as National Unmarried and Single Americans week, which would give it the acronym N.U.S.A. That abbreviation is a little to close to nuisance for my liking...

Here is a link to an article on the topic:

It's National Singles Week

The article is a bit defensive, but makes good points about how single people are sometimes unfairly discriminated against when it comes to time off and medical benefits.

So if you're single, get out there and celebrate! You've got no strings to hold you down.

This Land is Your Land, This Land is My Land

It is always amazing to me how I can find an entirely different world when I travel just a few hours away from the metropolis I call home. I am a city girl, so anything that is not quite a city has a limited attraction. Still, it is good to be reminded that although everyone does not live as city-dwellers do, we all have plenty in common.

On my way to Shenandoah National Park to do research for a Washington Post story, I saw a hand-scrawled sign that read: NRA Supporter for Obama. The person who made that sign had a point to make. Later I saw one that declared Virginia to be McCain Country.

More and more I see people sporting all kinds of variations of the mohawk. But I didn't expect to see any mohawks once I got a little deep into Virgina. Sure enough, a man at a gas station had a mohawk that was accompanied by a rat tail in the back.

The Mohawk/Rat Tail man came into a convenience store as I was paying for my (cheap!) gas to announce/ask about getting some gas on store credit. He said he needed to gas for two hours because he was going to get some money and that he'd be back. This transaction (or lack therof) was surprising to me. I didn't think people still did things like that. But with the way things are going, everyone may be bartering and borrowing a lot more.

Recently, I was allowed to get items from a store on credit, so I can't say that it doesn't happen in big cities. However, it is a phenomenon I associate more with small town living.

"You're Such a Woman!"

That is what a colorful patron (and fellow woman) in the auto body shop said to me because I told the mechanic that I was only electing to get a new air filter because he showed me how filthy mine was.

I had joked that if they'd just mentioned it and not shown me the air filter, I'd probably have skipped the new one, saying, " I can breathe."

In any case, the woman had a point: we women are too long-suffering for our own good.

So Many Blogs...

If you are in the DC area (and even if you aren't) you can catch me blogging for Examiner.com. I write about Cultural Events for the Communities section.

The Meaning of Amistad

I am the master of my fate; I am the captain of my soul.
-from Invictus by William Ernest Henley

Everyone wants their moment in the sun, but sometimes one has to ask if it is really worth it. Especially if your shining moment means you have to step over someone else. Particularly if the time you’ve chosen to stand in the spotlight takes place on a replica of a slave ship when a fellow visitor has fallen ill.

I was aboard the Amistad at the National Harbor, where man's (continued) inhumanity to man played out in historical memory and contemporary lack of courtesy. Amistad, a replica of the slave ship La Amistad, is touring the world and docking and educating people as it goes. The word amistad is Spanish for friendship. The original Amistad was not intended to carry slaves as it did and was the site of a well-known 1839 slave revolt. This revolt was the subject of the 1997 movie, also called Amistad. The tour is sponsored by a non-profit that wants to promote cultural understanding.

The ship is small and only a certain number of visitors could be on it at once. Even fewer visitors were allowed to go below deck. It was down there that a woman started to sweat profusely and became ill. She ended up sitting on the floor and vomiting.

Meanwhile, another visitor was asking people to move out the way so she could get pictures of herself at various spots. Even when the women became ill and ship personnel came to her aid in those tiny below deck quarters, the photo shoot continued. She was oblivious to the woman’s plight and was solely concerned with getting a good shot. As they cleared people from below and made them return to the upper portions of the ship, the woman, seemingly unconcerned to all that went on around her, cajoled a crew member about how he was supposed to be in place to take pictures of her with her camera.

It’d be great if this was story where someone was overcome because the stench of slavery and the collective spiritual memory of how our ancestors suffered. But it’s not. I heard the woman diagnose her swooning as the combined result of waiting in a long line in the hot sun to get on the ship and the heat in the small, cramped quarters below deck.

They Say They're N Luv


Yesterday's entry about gentlemanly behavior is a great segway to talk about some rather un-gentlemanly and un-ladylike behavior.

I was reading an issue of Jet about a week ago and came across and article entitled "Exotic Dancers at the Forefront of Picking Hip-Hop Hits." (If you're wondering how I remember the title it's because I have a subscription to Jet. It was free, hey, what can I say.)

I know journalists just present the issues and they aren't supposed to judge...but I was surprised at the article and at the fact that it was so blasé about the whole thing. So-called "urban" radio appeals to young listeners and a lot of what they listen to glorifies stripper culture. Stripper culture is now mainstream. Often enough I have been listening to a song on the radio and a few minutes into it, I realize that the object of a male singers "affection" is in fact a stripper.

Hip Hop artists will test out a song in strip clubs and if the "girls" like to dance to it, then they've got a hit. One expert quoted in the article noted that the strength of the "alliance" between hip hop and strip clubs is increasing.

Once men sangs songs to women they wanted to date. This is not to say that they didn't want more than a date, but they were at least willing to attempt to woo a woman. Now women in general are reduced to being sex workers as men sing songs to women that they want to see on the pole.

An Old-Fashioned Model

Walking down the stairs of my building, I ran into a neighbor who was balancing a garbage bag and her toddler. At about the same time, a man I hadn't seen before came into the stairwell inquiring if I had any black shoe polish. I don't think I've ever had any shoe polish.

He offered to take the trash out for my neighbor since she had her young son. He was another neighbor's father, here on a visit. That is the kind of thing my Dad would do. They really don't make them like that anymore.

Ratting People Out

The other day I was happily typing away and the radio was on as background noise, but I was barely listening. Then I heard a public service announcement that got my attention because its cheerful tone belied the distasteful subject matter.

It made me think about when I was studying abroad in Costa Rica, where there seemed to be a lot more PSAs. They were all so earnest. I remember one that aired frequently: a teenager comes to his dad to discuss a "friend's" problem and the father launches into a brief but serious lecture on the topic, and you can tell Pops is feeling all "Father Knows Best." At the end the teenager tells his dad that he is the friend in question. I'd walk around with his words echoing in my head (Papi, este amigo...soy yo.)

So I was jarred to hear a man telling me how we all need to work towards a rat-free DC as if he were recommending a movie I should watch. Speaking of which...I now see that I share my father's aversion to rats in pop culture. When he discovered that I had discovered the song Ben from the movie of the same name, my father said, disgusted, "He's singing...about a rat." I felt the same about that movie Ratatouille. Rats cooking in the kitchen? Ugh, no thanks.

And because I am nothing if not logical--I don't like real mice, but have no problem with their onscreen counterparts. Onscreen mice--cool; onscreen rats--no.

But back to the lecture at hand: yeah people, let's work on that whole rat-free DC thing.

Just Like Romeo and Juliet

"Women may fall, when there's no strength in men."
-Romeo and Juliet, Act III, Scene III

When Jennifer over at Regal and Regular heard that I was going to see "Romeo and Juliet" at The Harman Center for the Arts, she asked me to blog about it. And since I would do anything for my regal readership, I am doing just that.

I've seen various versions from the West Side Story movie to Synetic Theater's stunning silent adaptation, but I hadn't seen the play performed on a stage. So you know not only did I have to go see it done the old-fashioned way, I ended up seeing it done old school for real: as in all the characters were portrayed by men, just as it would have been done in Willie Shakespeare's day. Both the ancient Greeks and the Elizabethans thought that the stage was no place for a woman, so men played men and prepubescent boys and men played women. One of my friends thought that Romeo was a better girl than Juliet. For years scholars have pointed to Romeo's weakness and Juliet's strength throughout the play, although both teenagers' dramatic tendencies get the tragedy going.

The intro in the program drew my attention to the lines that characterized women and it made me look at the play in a whole new way. They wanted to emphasize the male posturing that leads to violence. The violence on the streets of Verona could be the violence anywhere, but we see it differently because Shakespeare is viewed as classic.

It is funny that Shakespeare is thought of as a high school thing because anyone who has seen a performance will tell you that it is much bawdier than it seems. (And in a different way, this does make Shakespeare very much a high school thing.) Modern play companies tend to emphasize Shakespeare's innuendo and double entendres to remind us that his plays were much more grounded than we are led to believe.

OK, My Digital Transition Wasn't That Easy...

Now I have to get my DVD player hooked into the equation as well. At the moment, it is out in the cold...stay tuned.

The Transition to Digital TV

The Transition to Digital Television

When I bought my analog tv set a few years ago, digital television was for me a hazy notion, but as the date for the conversion creeps up it is becoming more and more real. People with digital televisions and cable packages have little to worry about. But if you are like a cable-free, analog television set owner like me, you need to pay attention.

I've heard conspiracy theories that this digital transition is one more step in the government's plan for total mind control. Maybe. I've also heard rallying cries to abandon tv altogether. Good idea...I'm not a big fan of tv, but even I like to catch a few shows now and then. I got a coupon for a digital converter box...and then I let it sit in a drawer for months until my mother reminded me that it could expire.

So then I went out to get a digital converter box and then I let it sit for months...until I met Denice Rhodes, the Digital Dynamo, and she convinced me that I might want to set it up, rather than wait until the night before the conversion. There is no guarantee that your digital converter box will work.

Well, Denice, I am happy to report that my digital converter works just fine. And I could have been enjoying much clearer reception had I done so sooner. I do have extra channels, but where I once had three different local PBS stations, I now have three different channel extensions of one PBS station. I guess that evens out. And I saw a great commercial for a gadget that helps you make pancake puffs, which are apparently superior to regular pancakes, although you still have to flip them.

Unlike me, some people may not find their foray into digital television so simple. Denise works to help seniors, people in rural areas and others understand the transition for analog to digital. Many people are unaware and some who are aware and get the converter boxes still have trouble getting everything. set up. Plus, cable companies are poised to get new customers when consumer with no reception turn to them in confusion.

You can visit Denise's website, http://www.transition2dtv.com/,to get info on outreach workshops to keep seniors and others from being left in the dark.

Go to https://www.dtv2009.gov/ to get a coupon toward the price of a digital converter box.

You can also read this list of FAQ's on the digital transition from the FCC.

Mahna Mahna: An Autobiography in Two Words

I caught Jim Henson's Fantastic World at the Smithsonian's International Gallery. (The exhibit leaves on 10/5/08, so if you want to see it, go soon.) It made me nostalgic for The Muppet Show and Fraggle Rock.

There, I learned that the Muppet sketch with the tune that still pops into my head from time to time was named for the main character. Who knew? Mahna was a jazzy/hippy character who showed up to say his own name and scat a little while his background singers cooed. I guess Henson and crew had more to say about the nature of music and artists than I imagined.

If you have no idea what this means, check out the video on YouTube:
Mahna Mahna

Even if you do remember it, it is fun to watch anyway.

A Brief and Wondrous Book Signing with Junot Diaz


Author events usually don't get too interactive until the end when they open things up for Q&A, but Pulitzer Prize-winner Junot Diaz started out his talk last night at Politics & Prose by asking the audience for their thoughts on DC, the times we live in and living in DC in the times we live in, so that made for a much more shared experience. He was funny, even when he didn't intend to be, but also very insightful.

These aren't exact quotes, but more like my impressions of some of what was said:

On the upcoming election:
Diaz said that the fictional narratives of the political parties are so sloppy, he can't believe people are lapping it up and that even the worst genre writer couldn't write this way. And he encouraged people to keep journals of the next 50 days to have a record of what we're going through, though he added that what we're going through will help no one.

On anger:
When he started to read a second passage from The Brief Wondrous Life of Oscar Wao, someone asked for the page number. He said, "I refuse to reveal the page number on truculence alone." But then he did reveal it, admitting that he was a big wuss. Diaz said that ten years of failure had helped rid him of his anger and that part of growing up means you become a big wuss.

On being a writer and on expectations:
When someone asked for suggestions on how to teach parts of Oscar Wao, he said that as a writer your own work tends to elude you. This got laughs, but he meant it. Then after the questioner told how she'd teach it, he gave some other suggestions.

When someone asked why he was more "authentic" at this reading than at another at the Folger Shakespeare Library, where this person thought he had been more "polite," he said that he had gotten an 8 page letter lambasting him for cussing and being too much at that very same event. And he added that people expect writers to be the same every time, which they can't be.

On hope:
A Caucasian gentleman from Texas started talking and was eventually in tears as he relayed how his Dominican wife and children struggled at times, living in a part of the U.S. where they were not always appreciated. He said they all drew inspiration from Diaz's work, especially his 13-year old son. The tearful man asked Diaz if there was any hope for the future.

Diaz gave a wonderful impromptu speech about how people do the things they do like write books and raise children because they have hope. He said things will get better and worse. Then he talked about being of African descent and said that for hundreds of years his ancestors in the DR were bred to work, with no say in who to love and no real chance to benefit from the fruits of their labors. He said there is hope for the future, but that we are going to have to really fight for it.

And because this entry is getting long, I'll close by saying that Diaz, admitted nerd and Jersey/Dominican nationalist, answered a final question that referenced his worldview by saying that in his mind everyone on the spaceship in Star Trek is Dominican.

It's All in the Presentation

So last week I took a meeting. (I just love phrases like "take a meeting.") But I digress (as I usually do)...So last week I took at meeting with the marketing/private dining manager at a local restaurant the is curiously categorized as "casual upscale."(Or was that "upscale casual"...?) OK, I'm digressing (again).

He told me this sad, yet intriguing story:

The restaurant serves these Belgian-style frites made with truffle oil. True to European custom, they are served wrapped in a newspaper cone. The man who does the wrapping is a Spanish-speaking gentleman. He does not read English.

A customer becomes inconsolable while eating some of said frites. Why?

Because the frites have been wrapped in the obituary section. The customer saw the picture of a friend/acquaintance/relative.

Can you imagine breaking bread with someone and getting the news of a death by way of an oil-stained newspaper cone? And did I mention that we were eating these very same frites as he told me this story? He told me that now all obituaries are removed before the newspaper is given to the man who wraps the fries.

Truth really is stranger than fiction.

And the winner is...

Me! I'm not exactly The Prizewinner of Defiance, OH, but I did manage to win another great prize from Mary at StellarSelf. This time I got a cd. Yeah, I know it isn't that much fun for you, but you can always come over and listen to it. Last time I got a a free reiki session. If you haven't tried reiki, you should.

Seeing the Light


As last weekend's hurricane-inspired rains approached, my flashlight was nowhere to be found. Though I didn't anticipate being without light, I thought it was time I stopped playing around with hurricanes and such. For once I was going to be (somewhat) prepared. So I stopped to buy a flashlight and some non-perishables.

I was in the hardware store trying to be patient because the people in front of me were having a good ol'time chattin' with the cashier and whatnot. But as is always the case, my face gave me away. A woman who worked there, but who was not the cashier, saw me and told the cashier to speed it up a little. The discussion centered around a box of insect bait. A woman teased an older man, saying he wouldn't let her buy it. And they all talked about why that brand was the best.

When the woman who tried to help me in my quest to purchase the flashlight and get home out of the torrential rain that was already falling interrupted, I saw that the older man was Marion Barry.

Marion Barry is (again) running to re-claim his seat on the DC council, representing Ward 8. Today is the day Ward 8 decides if they want to give him another go 'round. If you are supposed to be voting in some election, get yourself to the polls.

As for me, I have been tricked into returning to the hardware store because they don't take credit cards and the helpful employee let me get the flashlight and batteries on her tab.

It's Not Easy Being Green


I am not one of those people who is intensely interested in being "green," but I do care and try to conserve in my own small ways. So the other day, I was quite annoyed when my efforts were thwarted.

I've seen the signs in Giant stating that if I bring in my own bags, I can save a nickel for each bag I bring, and I've ignored them. For some reason, I always bring my own bag into Trader Joe's because that store just kind of inspires cooperation and good works. But at Giant, why bother, right?

The other day I reconsidered my flawed logic and brought my reusable Trader Joe's bag into Giant...where it was blatantly ignored.

Although I mentioned it several times to the cashier, showing him the bag and stating the reason for its presence, he continued to place my groceries into double-bagged plastic cocoons. He halfway acknowledge me saying, "Oh, you know I just get used to doing things a certain way." But he didn't stop to putting things into plastic bags.

I told him that he needed to give my my nickel off anyway because I brought in the bag and it wasn't my fault that he ignored it.

"Oh, so you're saying it's my fault?" he challenged. At first, I backed down and said it wasn't his fault, but then I thought better of it. And I told him yes, it was his fault: I had pointed out the bag I'd brought and the sign directly across from his station that said customers got five cents off for each bag they bring in.

So I put all the plastic bags into the reusable bag so I'd only have one bag to carry (see it still came in handy). Then I told the store manager who seemed just as confused as the cashier.

When I got home, I read a review of Thomas Friedman's new book Hot, Flat and Crowded--Why We Need a Green Revolution and How it Can Renew America in which he says the U.S. can avoid utter ruin by changing our wasteful energy habits.

Nothing is impossible, but let me tell you Mr. Friedman, it ain't gonna be easy to change the wasteful mindset of the American people.

Swims with Dolphins



I heard an interesting exchange while I was at the National Aquarium in DC (yes, we have one), doing research for a Washington Post article I wrote: Aquatic Adventures and a Dolphin Birthday.

There was a man there with two little boys. I imagine they were his sons and he says to one of them, "I'll show you Patrick."

I'm wondering if he has come up with personal pet names for these creatures or if he knew something I didn't. Turns out it was the latter. It all became clear when one little boy said, "I want to find Sponge Bob! All they have to do is put a sponge in there."

So this man knew he needed to reference a tv character to get his kids to make the connection. (If you don't know, Patrick is a starfish.) I just hope he told them that there is no Sponge Bob...

The aquarium marketing rep told me that pop culture has had a huge influence on aquarium visits. After The Little Mermaid, everyone was looking for Sebastian and puffer fish. And for a while everyone was looking for Nemo as well.

Much safer than when people adopt dalmatians or chihuahuas after seeing them on tv or in a movie and dump them after the real ones are not as much fun as their on-screen counterparts.

Dirty Jersey

I saw a man in a van with NJ plates who was driving while operating a video camera...

Benched
The other day two older "gentleman" drove me straight into the arms of Commerce.

I was sitting on a bench, reading when "gentleman" #1 approached. (Ironically, the book was a coming-of-age story where the main character gets harassed by an old man. Her mother ends up shooting him, but that is another story.)

He was unhappy that I didn't greet him warmly. He told me I had an attitude (which is a common insult that a man will throw at a woman whenever she is not elated to see him or when she does not offer to sit on his lap). I told him to have a nice day and found another bench.

Sometimes when I sit outside I find that after swatting way one pest, another will immediately follow. But this does not usually happen with pests of the human variety.

I wasn't sitting on my new bench long, when "gentleman" #2 came by. Unlike, "gentleman" #1, #2 was not sober. His zig-zagging flight and slurred speech caused me to flee once again. But I wised up and did not find another bench.

I followed my own unsteady course into a clothing store, where lo and behold, I found what I had long been looking for: a pair of well-fitting, dark jeans at an amazing price. So thank you horrid and annoying old men for sending me on my way to a 70% off rack and $4.99 jeans. All's well that ends well, as they say.

Work/Life Balance

Yesterday I was in a store and I heard a little voice say, "Do you live here?" I looked down at there was a little boy looking up at me. He repeated the question. I was puzzled.

"It's 'Do you work here?'" his mother corrected him.

I'm glad she cleared that up. Her little boy was practicing his concerned consumer skills, learning early that you may have to question several people in a store before you can find one to help you. And while some people do live at work, I neither lived nor worked there, so I couldn't help him.

Take a Load Off



Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
-Matthew 11:28

Weighty Matters

I wasn't halfway into the sanctuary door when an usher said to me accusingly,"Now don't tell me you didn't lose weight this time." I paused because I was at a loss for words. It was early in the morning and my witty reply mechanism was not quite operating. I said nothing.

Had I once told her that I had not lost weight? Does being a doorkeeper in the house of the Lord include weight-loss monitoring?

My general amusement turned to sadness later in the service, when I learned that a man who had been one of the pillars of the deacon board had just died. I was very used to seeing him and when I saw him during the past few weeks, he was quite alive and seemingly well. It is hard to believe that he is gone.

But my sadness did not last: despite having a paper with the words, a soloist butchered a rather popular gospel song, so I was amused again. And then the sermon reminded me of how easy it is to concentrate on what you don't have and that we'd all do better if we looked at what we do have.

So, R.I.P. Deacon Robb. We'll miss you, but we are better because you were here.

They Still Don't Get It

Last week I went to a networking event that was co-sponsored by an all-female networking group and a mostly male one. Several gentlemen approached me and others to ask why such an all-female networking event existed. And they asked: well, couldn't we just start an all-male networking group? Sure. It's called corporate America. And there is another one called patriarchal society. (Now there's a phrase I haven't thrown around since I left the all-female college I attended.)

One was disappointed when we all responded in a calm, logical fashion. Maybe he wanted us to get all upset. They say the don't like it, but some men really like when women get angry. This particular gentleman went on to complain that when he looked at the agenda for a program sponsored by an all-female networking group, he though it looked excellent and very informative...but he didn't want to go because he didn't feel comfortable since it was going to be a group of mostly women.

Exactly.

Teach Them Well...and Let Them Lead the Way?

I had another story to tell, but since bad little boys seem to draw comments, I'll give them their moment in the sun again.

I was on the train across the aisle from some boys who were somewhere between 10 and 13. Their whole conversation was n-word this and n-word that and they ended many sentences with "son." They discussed how girls were after them, asking them to buy burgers and french fries and how they weren't giving them nothin'.

The woman sitting behind them asked them if they were talking to each other. And when they said yes, she asked them, "Then why are you talking so loud?" Both she and they laughed. And they lowered the volume for a few minutes, but soon they were talking as loudly as before.

As I should have suspected, they were getting off at my stop. By now the woman had spent the rest of the train ride discussing how she couldn't even read her book because they were so loud. (Um, rude kids aside, having to listen to people talk is one of the hazards of riding the train.) When they got ready to leave, she wished them a good evening. They ignored her. But I responded to wish her a good evening.

Leaving the train, I heard one of them mutter about how he wanted to "cut her fat a$$." So I thought the story would end there, but it didn't.

Next I witnessed a family reunion in the train station. The threatening boy met up with his parents; they were getting on a train as he was leaving one. They all seemed genuinely happy to see each other. He yelled after them that they "betta be home by 9:30" and that he was giving them a bedtime.

They Start Early

Coming out of the supermarket the other day, I saw a gaggle of pre-teen boys sqawking at a girl their age who kept on walking.

"I lost my phone number...Can I have yours?" one of them yelled after her.

Happy Birthday, Ben's Chili Bowl!

"Take a picture of a menu with some Pepto."

This was the art direction I received from a friend as we discussed how I wanted to blog about Ben's 50th anniversary, but had forgotten my camera. Good idea. I've taken similar pics for other posts.

We were at Ben's since this weekend marks 50 years that Ben and crew have been dishing out chili,etc. to Washington DC. That is a long time for anyone to be in business, let alone someone in the food/service industry. The sign advising who can eat free ("Bill Cosby and no one else.") is still there, and someone stuck a few 50th Anniversary stickers on it. I had to agree with my friend: it still makes you chuckle every time, no matter who many times you see it. (Cosby has been an ardent supporter of Ben's for most of its 50 years.)

For my part, I did not need any Pepto since I only had a piece of cake. My friend and the cashier could not believe that was all I was getting. Hey, it was late at night and I came to offer my congratulations and support, not to get heartburn.

Context is King

The Washington Examiner had a pull quote from Obama's younger half-brother where he was quoted as saying that he denied being related to Obama because he was ashamed.

Later, I picked up The Washington Post and read this:

George Hussein Onyango Obama, 26 -- the youngest of Barack Obama 's many half siblings -- living in a ramshackle hut on the outskirts of Nairobi. According to a translation in the U.K.'s Telegraph, the younger Obama said he does not like to admit his relation to the candidate because he is ashamed of his poverty.

The Examiner quote managed not to capture the part about his poverty, thus leaving one to think that George Obama was simply ashamed of Barack.

A Bench By Any Other Name

After I got to college, I decided that I did not want anyone to name a building after me. This was rather presumptuous of me since I have yet to be in any real danger of having anyone name a building after me. But it is fun to make this kinds of arbitrary decisions anyway.

At Spelman, the dining hall was named for Alma Upshaw, who I'm sure was a fine, upstanding citizen. Yet, not a day would go by when someone without someone declaring, "I hate Alma." We did not know her, but more often than not the food served in the cafeteria bearing her name deserved our derision.

At at my brother's college, Lincoln University, people made reference to a dorm called "Freddy D.," named after Frederick Douglass. He probably wouldn't have minded, but still...if you can avoid having a building named after you, you can avoid having your name tossed about.

Instead, you might try getting some benches placed in your honor, as the Toni Morrison Society has done for their namesake author. Since the benches themselves aren't really named for you, it won't be like people are sitting on you. Rather, they will appreciate and honor the fact that your life's work inspired a place of respite.

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

More About Frederick Douglass's Home, Cedar Hill




Not too long ago, I wrote about the view from Cedar Hill, but due to my lack of camera at the time, the post did not have any actual views of Cedar Hill. For those of you didn't click on the hyperlink above (shame on you), I'll tell you that Cedar Hill was Frederick Douglass's final home. It is in the Anacostia area of DC. When that area was mostly farmland, this former slave purchased the house on a hill and its surrounding farmland for about $6,000 in the 1870s.

Not to take anything away from Douglass's remarkable achievements, but it is always fun to hear a little of the dirt...

The tour guide told us that although the movie shown in the visitor center makes it seems as if Douglass's children objected to his marrying his second wife because she was white, this really wasn't the case. Apparently after his first wife died there were 8 or 9 ladies vying to become the second Mrs. Frederick Douglass. His children picked the one they liked best of these women (some of whom were white), but Douglass didn't agree with their selection. He married his secretary instead.

The pillowcases on Douglass's bed are embroidered with a picture of two owls together on the higher branches of a tree with a lone owl sitting on some lower branches. The phrase "Two's company, three's a crowd" accompanies this picture. Again the tour guide had the scope: Douglass's second wife embroidered those. She was not accorded the respect that most wives of great men received during the Victorian era and felt that the shadow of Douglass's first wife (whom he was with for 44 years) loomed large over her marriage.

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.